Tipping the Scales
by Floralia
Summary: SEQUEL. The brothers deal with a haunting, a series of violent attacks, and learn why it’s not a good idea to even half make a promise you didn’t really want to keep.
1. Chapter 1

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: SEQUEL. The brothers deal with a haunting, a series of violent attacks, and learn why it's not a good idea to even half make a promise you didn't really want to keep.

DISCLAIMER: This story is not official in any way. Supernatural still belonged to Kripke and CW last time I checked.

As the summary sates this is a sequel, and it really would pay to read 'Restoring the Balance' first because most of the first couple of chapters is spent establishing their physical and emotional states, which means reflecting on the events and aftermath of the last story without actually going into any details about what happened.

I have no idea where in the time line this fits. Somewhere in series two. Wherever you chose to slot it.

**Chapter One**

"Well that was easy." Sam sounded almost disappointed.

"Speak for yourself." Dean flung his shovel wearily over his aching shoulder and picked up his pace to match his younger brother's long strides.

"Hey, I offered." Sam protested, breaking off at the warning look that was being thrown in his direction. "It's not my fault if 'grave digging' doesn't make it onto the list of hospital approved activities." He joked, referring to the booklet Dean had been given before Sam had been discharged, and which he studied and coveted almost as religiously as he did their father's journal.

"Yeah, well setting dead guys on fire isn't on the list either, and I let you do that didn't I?"

And you've been bitter about it ever since, Sam thought with a smile. Dean burnt the bodies. It was what he did, like some unspoken rule. Sam could apply the gas but it was Dean that lit the flames. Sam didn't know if it was because Dean had determined a long time ago to keep his brother away from fire, or because he was a closet pyromaniac. Hopefully it was a happy medium between the two, but he couldn't remember a time when it hadn't been true. And Dean's emotions very rarely came in happy mediums.

"Yes you did." Sam relented with a smile of thanks. The smell of burning bones aside it had been very satisfying.

"And you're getting to carry the gas can." Dean pointed out.

"Dean, it's empty." Sam waved it about in front of Dean's face to emphasise the point. "It doesn't actually weigh anything."

"I let you drive yesterday." Dean was on a roll now.

"For four minutes. And you were drunk."

"I was not." Dean exclaimed in mock outrage. "That was merely a front so those biker guys didn't make such a big deal about you dragging me out before they could win their money back."

"What about the part where you tripped over your own feet and ended up head first in that poor bar maid's breasts? Was that a front too?"

"No. That might have been deliberate." Dean admitted sheepishly.

"Yeah, well I'm the one that had to drag you out of there and navigate past her husband."

"And expertly done it was too."

Sam just shook his head. He wasn't going to win this. He wasn't even sure what 'this' was. It had pretty much been a certainty that Dean wasn't going to let him dig, and he had promised Bobby before they left that he wouldn't push the matter or take offence if things played out the way they were both expecting. There would no doubt be numerous other salt and burns in the future, Sam could be a spectator for one. And he hadn't felt at all guilty sitting idly by and watching his brother do all the hard work. It was Dean's choice, and he seemed perfectly content with it.

They made their way back to the car in a companionable silence, and after they had stowed their supplies in the trunk Dean threw Sam the keys. He accepted the gesture in silence but with a smile, knowing it was Dean's way of apologising if he had made Sam feel useless on their first hunt in months. An attempt to pacify if he was angry. Sam had thought he would be, but was surprised to find that he really didn't care. They had been away from Bobby's for three days, and were still very much easing themselves into this new routine. If it took one job watching from the sidelines for Dean to adjust to the idea of them both being in the thick of it together again, then it took one job. That had been Bobby's thinking behind sending them here.

If it took two jobs, it took two. Sam was still 'research boy'. Had been even while sitting, or even lying, still, sending Dean and Bobby out better prepared on the few hunts they'd found in the local area. Dean wanted him to take it easy, and he would respect that.

If it took three jobs, then that was when they would have a problem.

"You gonna call Bobby tonight or wait until the morning?" he asked, drawing to a stop in front of the room they had checked into on the way to the cemetery.

"He told us to call him when we were done." Dean stated, as though confused as to why Sam would even bother to ask.

"Yeah, but maybe he didn't mean 'as soon as'" Sam attempted, "Like four in the morning."

"It's not four there."

"It's not much better."

Dean just shrugged and pulled out his phone as they crossed over the threshold into their room, closing the door behind them and watching Sam sink down onto one of the beds. "Just obeying instructions." He assured his brother with a wicked grin. "Besides, he must be missing us by now, whether he admits it or not."

Sam just shook his head, feeling suddenly sorry for their friend. It probably would take some getting used to their absence, they'd been there close to three months after all, but even though he would never have admitted to it, never have pushed them into making a move, both brothers knew he must be relieved to have his solitude again. But helping them heal and move on had included wanting to see them on their way again. It might take some adjusting to, but if they couldn't hunt as a team again then they wouldn't really have learnt anything. The most useful thing Bobby could have done for them was to find this straight forward job and send them on their way.

Three days of driving later, a spot of digging and some flames, and it was over. He probably was eager to hear how things had worked out.

The research had all been done before they had left. Someone from the area had been familiar with Bobby's unusual area of expertise, had contacted him with the details of some bizarre occurrences, and between him and the scene and Sam on the internet it had been relatively easy to work out it was a spirit they were dealing with, whose was involves, and where the body was buried. But Bobby's informant was an accountant, who was familiar with the supernatural because he had once had the misfortune to own a haunted garage that Bobby had helped deal with. He was perfectly willing to ask a few questions and email the occasional photo, but drew a firm line at digging up a corpse and burning it. And Sam couldn't help but think that was a fair line to draw.

And that was where they came in.

It had taken them three days to get here, partly because Dean was reluctant to let Sam drive – he still hadn't gotten over the near lamp-post encounter that had left the Impala rattling for a day. Sam was less than pleased with Bobby when he explained to Dean what he had done to fix it. The words meant nothing to Sam, but Dean had gone strangely pale and not spoken to him for the rest of the day, and Sam couldn't work out if it was the fact he had almost killed himself or the car that Dean was so upset about.

He wasn't going to ask; he didn't think Dean had forgiven him for the admission he had been forced to make the last time Sam had suggested it was the car.

Neither of them were now used to spending so long cooped up in the vehicle, and Dean was still subtly monitoring Sam's eating and sleeping habits, so instead of driving through the night they had stopped and found a bed. But that had required money, and then they had had to stop to acquire more, and somehow a relatively short trip that they would once have just driven and thought nothing of had taken three days. Sam couldn't help but be reminded of the five days it had taken them to get to Bobby's in the first place, when he had managed to get home four days ahead of them.

This trip had a similar feel. Being on the road and being alone had made Dean strangely exuberant again, and that hadn't really faded the closer they had got to their destination, as Sam had feared it would.

Bobby answered the phone much too quickly to be able to fool either of them that he had been in bed. Sam had told him they would be arriving in time to get the job done tonight; he had obviously meant his words to have been taken literally and had been waiting up to hear from them.

"Ask how Dean is." Sam whispered after they had been talking for a while and Dean had assured the other man the spirit was well and truly dealt with. Dean just pulled a face and shook his head, and carried on talking.

"I don't know. We'll probably just keep heading west for a while. Keep our eyes open in case anything crops up along the way."

"Dean… ask about…" Sam fell silent at his brother's glare but his eyes continued to plead their case.

Dean relented with a mammoth sigh. "Sam wants to talk to you." Dean cut Bobby's rumour of a possible werewolf sighting off and handed the phone over to his brother, trying to keep his face suitably annoyed in the face of Sam's glee.

"Hey Bobby, ho…"

"The dog's fine." Sam wasn't sure if it was exasperation or amusement that he could pick out as Bobby's overriding emotion, but he didn't care.

"You sure? Did you...?"

"Sam. I have had a dog before you know. I do know how to look after them."

"yeah, I know, I just…"

Bobby sighed patiently. He had been just as worried about how Sam would take the separation from his dog as he was to how Dean would react to potentially leading Sam into danger. They had been almost inseparable since Sam had found it, despite Dean and Bobby's attempts to wean them both off the attachment before they were to be separated.

"He's okay, but he's moping." Bobby grouched. "Puppy's aren't supposed to be that miserable. But he's a lot better behaved now he doesn't have his partner in crime distracting him from his duties."

"Aww. You'll have him fully trained in no time."

"Yeah. Just in time for you to come back and strip it all from his head."

"I won't, I promise. Has he got any…?"

"Why don't I just put him on for you" Bobby riled, "You can ask him yourself. DEAN!"

Sam could hear an answering bark, but it didn't seem like the little guy was making any attempt to respond non-vocally to the call.

"That still a work in progress then?" Sam smiled. Bobby might mock his level of attachment but he couldn't say the dog didn't come running when he called. To Sam's amusement his brother usually responded to. Or he had until he realised he was confusing himself with a dog, and then it became nearly impossible for Sam to get Dean to acknowledge he was wanted without having to resort to the wounded little brother tone. And under the circumstances he would not be that manipulative. Unfortunately by the time they had left, the dog was also starting to respond to 'asshole'.

"He let you dig?" Bobby was decidedly changing the subject.

"Ha. What do you think?"

"And you're okay with that?"

"For now." Sam admitted. "He's staring at me impatiently though; I think he wants the phone back. I'll talk to you later, okay."

"Take care, you hear me?"

"Always do." Sam assured innocently.

"Your half isn't sulking as much as mine then." Bobby stated when Dean came back on the line.

"No, we've been relatively brood free." Sam just scowled and pulled a face from the other side of the room. "He's probably about as emotionally mature though." He laughed, watching as Sam yawned and made his way into the bathroom. "Hey! Don't use any hot water. I'm having first shower, I'm the one that just dug a grave out after all." He yelled after Sam's retreating back.

"Way to tell the neighbours that." Sam poked his head back out of the bathroom door with his eyebrows raised and his head slightly cocked, listening to see if Dean's high decibel confession had caused any response from the adjoining rooms.

"I mean it." Dean mouthed threateningly before Sam could vanish from sight again.

"As if I would." Dean wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel remorseful or not. Sam's eyes and tone had suggested hurt, but his smile had been decidedly mischievous.

"Business as usual then." Bobby stated. "Talking of business, I thought you already had another gig lined up."

"What? No. we're just drifting for now. Unless you hear of anything interesting."

"He didn't call you then?" Bobby sounded surprised.

"Who?"

"Some guy was here looking for you yesterday afternoon. Sounded like he had a job lined up for you."

"He was looking for us there?" Why did that make Dean so uneasy? "Do you know who he was?"

"Martin somebody. Didn't recognise the name but he claimed to know your Dad. Said he'd helped him out once upon a time. Was looking for a return favour. I told him you'd just left; he just plain turned around and walked away. Didn't ask for a number or anything. I assumed he must have had it."

"Martin? He make it sound like we'd know who he was?" Dean was perplexed. More old hunting acquaintances of their fathers had been coming out of the woodwork, more than they'd been aware of when he'd been alive, but Dean's feelings of interested curiosity had since turned into wary suspicion. This man might legitimately have been their father's friend but Dean was not prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Another potential ally sounded nice in theory, but it was not worth the risk. If Sam was willing to return to the hunt again, if they were both ready to continue the search for the demon then that was one thing, but Dean would not dangle him unnecessarily in harms way if he could help it, and if no-one trustworthy was in a position to vouch for this guy then he was not getting within a mile radius of Sam.

"If he's legit he'll have your number and call you." Bobby reassured, sensing Dean's sudden unease.

"Yeah. But how did he know we were staying with you in the first place?"

"I don't know." Bobby admitted. "I didn't advertise the fact. Don't want it to get out I'm getting soft. Who did you tell?"

"I didn't really. I'm guessing Sam said something to Ellen and Ash but other than that we're not really in contact with anyone."

"Yeah, well, I'd determine whether or not that woman said anything before you go getting jumpy"

"What did he look like?"

"Tall. Forties. Dark hair but mind numbingly average looking. No facial hair, scars, obvious tattoos. Carried himself with confidence, but didn't look like a hunter though. Hands were too soft."

"Not that you were checking him out closely or anything." Dean said with a grin.

"Hey, I'm about as trusting as you are, what can I say. Seriously though, I wouldn't worry about it. Only two people know where you are, and this time tomorrow even that won't be true. If you don't know where you're gonna end up you're gonna be pretty impossible to track. Just keep your eyes open."

"Always do." He groaned stretching. "I'd forgotten how exhausting digging up bones could be" he grouched.

"Well, if you're gonna insist on doing it all yourself, you've gotta expect the pain." Bobby said knowingly.

"How did you..?" Dean sighed watching the closed bathroom door. "I know. It's just; it sounds easy in theory…"

"I know, but just remember, neither of you would be out there if he wasn't ready for it. And despite what happened last time he does know his own limitations."

"Yeah. We'll see." Dean relented. He knew Bobby was right but like he'd said, knowing and acting on it were two different things. Their last two hunts had not ended well, and Dean was not looking for a repeat performance. He no longer felt the need to hover over Sam or be on hand constantly to offer his assistance. Sam no longer needed it, and Dean was determined it was going to stay that way. But if he didn't let Sam participate soon he would no doubt go to desperate lengths to prove that he could. And that had not worked out well the last time.

"I'd say keep in touch, but I don't want to give Sam a reason to call and check I haven't killed the damn dog any more regularly than he will anyway."

"It tried to escape yet?" Dean asked, knowing this had been a legitimate fear of Bobby's, that if it realised Sam would not be coming back any time soon it would have to set out and look for him. He would not put it past the thing to find them either.

"No such luck." Dean ignored Bobby's grumpy exterior. He knew the older man had warmed to the puppy despite his initial reluctance to house it. But Sam and his eyes had given him little choice, and he had soon remembered that he liked having a dog around the place. And despite his attachment to Sam, Dean mark two had settled in well, and seemed to at least _understand_ that Bobby was the boss, even if he didn't always want to acknowledge it.

"You like having a Dean around the place, admit it." He joked, although in truth he was still not happy with the naming situation. Resigned, but not happy. He knew Sam had initially named him in jest, but it had somehow stuck. Sam had been more reliant on Dean then, and the dog had seemed to think that only it was worthy of that much attention from Sam, therefore its name _had _to be Dean, whether they were trying to wean him onto something else or not.

"No doubt we'll be heading back in your direction soon enough." Dean relented.

"Yeah, well. Watch yourself until you do. And take care of that brother of yours too." He said, knowing there had never been a more unnecessary sentence.

Dean hung up trying hard not to hear a 'this time' on the end of Bobby's words. He knew that he was the only person that assigned him any blame, but while the hovering and need had diminished, the guilt was not fully gone, and Dean didn't think he wanted it to be. It was easier by far to accept that there had been some fault within himself and acknowledge he would be extra vigilant to ensure it never happened again, than it was to give in to everyone's assertions that it had just been 'one of those things' and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. If it was just a random occurrence then there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening again, and Dean would never accept that as true.

Sam emerged from the bathroom ready for bed the instant Dean hung up the phone, almost as though he had been waiting for the conversation to be over before feeling safe to come back in the room.

"Bobby have anything interesting for us?" he asked, scrambling into bed.

Dean shook his head no. He was suddenly ridiculously tired, but he was still conversed in grave dirt and if he didn't shower now his muscles would be murder in the morning. Sam had no such concern and seemed to already be half asleep even while waiting for an answer to his question.

Dean tried to tell himself this was why he never mentioned to Sam the figure that had approached Bobby looking for them. Bobby was right, he had no way of tracking them now and there was no point both of them worrying about it. If Sam thought Dean was amending their plans in any way to accommodate an unspecified threat to him that may not even exist, then the balance they were still so tenuously trying to achieve would be lost.

Dean showered quickly, and when he emerged Sam was unable to ask any more questions because he was already fast asleep, and feeling secure in his decision Dean collapsed wearily into his own bed, willing his now aching muscles to relax so he could get comfortable enough to join him in sleep.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: SEQUEL. The brothers deal with a haunting, a series of violent attacks, and learn why it's not a good idea to even half make a promise you didn't really want to keep.

DISCLAIMER: Same as before

Thanks to everyone that shared their thoughts on the story so far. Glad to know it was appreciated. I will admit in advance that my knowledge of medicine is limited to what I've seen on ER, and my knowledge of exercise in any forms is even hazier. I have no idea how long it would take to recover from an injury like Sam's, or what kind of physiotherapy routine he would have been following, so I have shied away from details as far as possible. Dean would know, I'm sure. The important thing is to focus on where he's at now and ignore any discrepancies in how and how long it took to get there. That would be appreciated.

**Chapter Two**

Why was it that motel curtains never managed to meet in the middle? And were the beds purposefully arranged so the morning light came streaming straight in through the gap to land on the pillow? Was there some secret motel owners manual that decreed this, along with the regulation bible and the fact that at least one lamp would be missing a bulb at all times?

Dean groaned and shifted in an effort to escape the light, then groaned again as the attempt to move his limbs brought up a sharp reminder of the nights exertion. He had not dug a grave in over six months, and his muscles had been more then happy with the way that situation had stood.

His body felt far heavier than he remembered and he tried his hardest to drag his mind back into sleep, but the light was just slightly too bright, the aches a fraction too sharp, and the itch on the back of his knee just the wrong side of annoying and he knew he was never going to get there.

Sam, it seemed, was having no such trouble and was even now sprawled on his stomach, limbs extended in all directions on his queen sized bed. It was as though he was subconsciously aware that he had all this space at his disposal, and he was going to damn well make the most of it. Dean couldn't help but wonder if his sudden perchance for sleeping on his front stemmed from the same place. He could now, whenever he pleased, so he was going to. And he would do it more often than had been his habit to balance out all the times when the fancy might have taken him and his body had objected.

It was strangely comforting to see him at it now, his head turned away from Dean, only a mop of unruly hair visible protruding from the covers. One of the most comforting parts about it was still that he could see the faint rise and fall of the bedspread that marked Sam's breath, although the fact that he could no longer hear his brother breathing was a close second. That had been almost as annoying as it had been alarming, but Dean regretted his brief moment of grumpiness over it. That had done nothing but cause Sam to retreat from their shared room to the spare one across the hall, where he could cough and wheeze to his heart's content without the added guilt of keeping Dean awake all night too.

And when that particularly nasty bout of sniffling was over Sam had not returned. Dean could only assume it was a combination of Sam feeling vaguely sheepish creeping back in to bunk with his big brother again when there was a perfectly adequate spare room free, and Bobby's enquiring whether they'd had some kind of midnight tiff that had caused him to wake up to find Sam in a different room to the one he thought he'd left him in, that had kept him away. And that made Dean feel too awkward to point out that he should feel free to come back in, any time. It had been almost a month since they had slept in the same room, and whether it was healthy or not Dean derived a great deal of comfort from just knowing Sam was there, from being able to see for himself that his brother was safe.

He looked over at the clock. It was gone nine. He'd managed almost five hours of sleep, and even if he wasn't going to get any more that didn't mean he had to get out of this bed any time soon. But everything he could think of to keep himself occupied risked waking Sam, and while that was appealing for its own sake, just to give him something to do, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. It wasn't Sam's fault that he was ach free and sleeping like a baby.

He sighed, going over the familiar argument with himself in his head. He really should have let Sam share the burden of the night's hunt. It wasn't that he wasn't up to it, he knew that Sam was capable, but it was hard to train his mind to think otherwise after the time and effort it had taken them both to get this far.

Sam had worked his way here unflinchingly, with a fierce determination that had made Dean proud. But as keen as he had been to get the ball rolling on his own recovery, he had stuck religiously to the hospital's guidelines. He had already proved that overdoing it would save no time, was incredibly painful, and almost impossible with Dean and Bobby on hand at almost all times to ensure he attempt nothing they considered beyond him. He had also learnt to adapt to the discrepancy between what _they_ considered beyond bounds and what _he_ did, which was perhaps why the doctor's advice had been so useful, as it provided a middle way.

Despite his own personal misgivings Dean knew they had not left Bobby's too soon. Sam still had room for improvement it was true. He hadn't yet reacquired the same level of strength stamina or agility he'd once had, but he would get there, and his body weight was approaching normal again too. He no longer _looked_ unhealthy, and that in itself had done a lot to lower Dean's level of hovering and interference. In fact unless you were looking for it, and despite himself Dean found that he often was, Sam gave off little indication of what his body had been through. Even the scars on his abdomen had calmed. They were no longer alarming and raw, when Dean thought they had every right to be given the number of times Sam had either pulled them or needed to have them reopened.

As crazy as it was considering everything his body had endured, it was the cold that had taken one of the most lasting tolls. Dean had thought that taking the journey to Bobby's so easy, that keeping him in bed dosed up on medication that first day would have done the trick. But while the aches and sniffles had gone away the cough had lingered. For weeks. Sam just couldn't shake it, and when they least expected it the whole thing would flare back up again as though eager to remind him it was still there, lurking just out of reach.

The final time it reappeared it had been accompanied by dizziness, breathlessness, and an alarmingly loud rattling from his lungs. Dean had finally decided enough was enough and carted his brother back in to see the doctor. Sam had bronchitis. He had changed rooms. And Dean had had to live with the guilt that that should have been obvious alone.

There was no lecture from the doctor this time around but there may as well have been. Dean would perhaps have been more comforted if there had, because he doubted the doctor's recriminations would have been more severe than his own. They had both had their focus fixed so firmly on the physical and mendable aspects of Sam's recovery. On the parts they could deal with themselves through daily training and physiotherapy. Had perhaps become complacent in the knowledge that Sam's strength was returning, so that both had somehow ignored the other major warning that had been issued to them all those months ago, back when Dean had finally been allowed to take his brother home. Sam had had his spleen removed, and his body's resilience and ability to fight off infections and illness would be compromised.

But that was just one more thing on the unending pile of things Dean should have known to look out for, should have known how to protect Sam from better. And one more thing for Sam to have to patiently explain was in no way his brother's fault. Dean had not _given_ Sam bronchitis. Perhaps he should be given just a little bit of credit for his own actions, and the fact he had been getting steadily sicker for the last month and a half and failed to notice was possibly more Sam's fault than Dean's. And if he'd had the sense not to fall asleep in freezing wet clothes he probably wouldn't have caught the cold in the first place.

Dean knew that Sam's training regime and his affinity for mucus had not alarmed Bobby as much as the emotional toll. Dean suspected this was in part because the other man found the idea of an overly emotionally withdrawn or demonstrative Sam a frightening prospect to have to deal with, and partly because he sensed it was Sam's level of stability that dictated Dean's. In all fairness, while Sam had his share of emotional ups and downs, especially in the early weeks, he had done his best not to let them get out of control. And he had always tried to work things through in his own mind before unloading or dissolving on anyone else. But Dean had been there; ready to be leaned on when he was needed because that was what older brothers were for. He had allowed Sam to be honest about his feelings when he'd needed to be, taking no offence at his insecurities, and for once not fleeing from providing the emotional reassurances he knew his brother needed. Even so, for the most part Sam had been strong, possibly because he was astute enough to know that if Dean witnessed him falling apart he would have had an emotional breakdown of his own.

Destroying Kane's device had been cathartic for both of them, but the emotions it had dragged out in Dean had still been close to the surface. While he could rationally filter through them, knew the arguments as to why his fear and guilt and need were either unfounded or reciprocated, Sam didn't have to do much to inadvertently make Dean lose the calm he had so painfully acquired. But it was never for long, Dean would not allow himself the luxury of wallowing, and Bobby despaired because they were still regulating their thoughts and feelings purely for each others benefit rather than considering their own. But even he was forced to admit their system seemed to be working. Their moods were so intricately linked that the fitter Sam grew the calmer Dean became, which in turn quietened Sam's mind was until all the doubts and fears that had plagued him were even more obviously nonsense than they had been originally, and could soon be shouted out completely.

It was gone ten and Sam was still showing no signs of stirring, and as much as Dean was glad that he was able to rest he also found how easy it was these days for Sam to sleep vaguely ominous. It wasn't that he associated a sleeping Sam with a drugged or unconscious Sam any longer; it was a different sense of nagging unease. Through a combination of nightmares, visions and uncertainty over the future Sam had never been a big one for trouble free sleep and mornings spent in bed. Perhaps it was a good thing he was now or perhaps it was a sign his body was still on the mend, but Dean couldn't shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm. A brief and unnatural reprieve before it was business and usual, and they were thrust back into the chaos in earnest.

It was almost six months since Sam's last vision, and the subject had remained closed for that entire time. There had always been the occasional mention or confession of fear in the past, but now Sam would not even speculate, and Dean couldn't bring himself to dwell on them either.

Sam's last vision had left him in a coma for nine days. It was no good. Dean would rather drag his aching self out of bed than lie here and allow that train of thought to continue. Sam had been gracious enough in accepting Dean's constraints last night. If their positions were reversed Dean knew he would be frustrated to have complied with his brother's every order and insane wish, only to find himself observing from the sidelines the first opportunity he was given to prove himself. If he allowed himself to dwell then he risked stumbling into claustrophobic rather than grudgingly tolerable, and he had no doubt tested Sam's patience enough.

As long as he was awake and contemplating moving he may as well channel the energy into something useful.

Dean crawled out from under his warm covers, trying hard not to groan, gathered together some clothes and retreated to the bathroom, giving Sam's still sleeping form a frown as he passed. Dean's feelings were nothing if not contradictory and intense, and he was not keen on the way Sam could continue to sleep peacefully while Dean wandered around him. He didn't want to wake Sam, but was it so wrong that he wanted Sam to have the awareness to wake himself?

But Sam was still dozing when Dean emerged from the bathroom washed and fully dressed, with his mind focused on breakfast.

While he was still less than happy with the idea of leaving Sam anywhere alone for an extended period of time, his paranoia had lessened to the point where he could now have him out of his sight and no longer within popping to check on distance without hyperventilating. Bobby's tactics had been glaringly obvious but appreciated. They had tackled a couple of simple jobs that had cropped up in the area, a way of proving to Sam that he could still be useful by doing the research, and to reassure them all that Dean could leave his concern behind him enough to focus on the job at hand. The last hunt had even included an overnight stay, and the fact Dean could not think of a time when he had willingly spent close to 36 hours away from his brother's side was enough to convince him that it was perhaps okay to take some time away.

Sam was still sleeping when Dean returned, although he had changed positions and was now facing the door as though awaiting his arrival. Sure enough, as soon as the motel door was closed Sam began to stir, and Dean could have sworn he saw his brother's nose twitching before he opened his eyes, blinked blearily, and enquired whether or not he had been brought any coffee.

Coffee acquired and drunk Sam gave no indication that he intended to get out of bed any time soon, and he seemed to have a look about him that suggested he was daring Dean to say anything about it. Which was foolish really, because Dean rarely backed away from a dare.

"Get your ass outta bed. The road's awaiting, and _somebody_ was supposed to be on a run about three hours ago." He complained, glaring at his watch disapprovingly.

Sam gave an impressively expressive whine and retreated back under the covers. Dean was half tempted to give in to the sentiment he was trying to convey; they had had an incredibly late night, and while Dean was more accustomed to their lifestyle now, Sam had not needed to be awake until 4am and expected to function again the next morning for a very long time. He had worked tirelessly and uncomplainingly obeying Dean's every mad training whim for so long now that he wouldn't begrudge him a break.

But then watching Sam squirm was too much like fun, and there was always the nagging doubt that maybe Sam was testing him with his reluctance to see if Dean was willing to indulge or prepared to stay strict. Denying Sam active involvement in the hunt and then letting him shirk off his training was probably not the best message to send out less than a week back on the road. Sam would be more grateful if Dean pushed him than if he gave in to the eyes that were staring out at him sheepishly.

"Come on, get up." Dean ordered, throwing running shoes at his brother's head, cursing how his pre-emptive dodge out of reciprocation's range pulled at the sore muscles of his shoulders.

"We can have this place by the hour so there's no need to hurry back before checkout." Dean pre-empted, "And don't worry about the expense I got it covered. I need you to watch my ass, and you can't put a price on that."

Sam just stared at him with a slightly bemused expression.

"What..?"

"I just… No. I really can't pick just one. I have too many problems with that sentence."

Dean just grinned and collapsed onto his own bed, moaning luxuriantly as he sunk into the mattresses grooves.

"What?" he asked innocently of Sam, who was by now finally standing, trainers in hand, staring at him incredulously.

"You're not coming with me?"

Dean merely looked down at himself sprawled across the bed, then back up at Sam. "Doesn't look like it." He replied, trying hard to repress a grin at his brother's exasperation.

"Fine." Sam threw a scowl at him as he left the room but Dean knew he didn't mean it. He usually did accompany him; in fact they went through most of his training regime together. Dean had sat still for almost the same length of time as Sam; keeping up with his own training had honestly never occurred to him, and it was almost as if he had woken up one morning and realised he wasn't as fit as he would have liked. But he was back on form now despite the lingering aches and pains. He was fairly sure digging a grave out was supposed to hurt. It was one of the incentives not to do it.

Sam left the motel and set off in the direction of the park he had spotted from the car the afternoon before. He would feel less self conscious running there than along unknown streets, and he could no longer blend in with other early morning joggers this close to midday. Besides which, Winchester's didn't jog. They ran. Usually. But they warmed up first or they ended up flat on their backs on their motel bed trying to conceal the fact they couldn't bare the thought of any more exercise for the time being.

But Sam wouldn't complain. Dean had been with him ever step of the way, had put in more hours with Sam than he could repay him for. He had been right to think that Dean would find helping with his rehabilitation soothing. He had taken great comfort in being able to monitor Sam's improvement. In being able to finally have an active role in his life again. It didn't matter what Sam said to the contrary, how much support Dean's mere presence had been; he knew Dean viewed his input until this point as entirely passive. He had watched and he had waited, and it was first the doctors and then Sam himself that had been the only ones in any position to fix him. Dean had never left his side, but he could do nothing to help Sam's body heal. It didn't matter that his inactivity had provided the peace and security that Sam had needed, that it was only when Dean had started to drown under his perceived impotence, let his fear rather than his calm drive him, they had both managed to so badly lose their way.

But now Dean could help in a way he understood and recognise as helping, and it seemed the last of his heightened neuroses had been tunnelled into schedules and work out plans and diet sheets, until it was Sam that had almost felt like the passive spectator in this. All he had to do was show up on time and do as he was instructed, and yes, that had initially been painful and wearying beyond description, but it had been calming too. Dean was getting to participate, but Sam wasn't sure if he realised it was still the simply being there that was the most help, no matter how it chose to manifest itself, because Sam _could not_ have done this alone.

Whenever he tried to think for himself what he needed to do, what steps he should take to get his rehabilitation on track, his mind reacted like a five year old with its fingers in its ears shouting 'bla bla bla bla bla' so loud that nothing else could get through. He didn't know if Dean had sensed this and it was what had prompted him into action, or if he would have buried himself so completely in the task anyway, but not having to think about it himself made the whole thing much more manageable.

It had taken a while, but through Dean's routine, unusual reward system, and the extensive, if slightly invasive, number of notes and statistics he made that allowed him to track clearly Sam's progress, the paralysing sense of defeat that he had left the hospital with had eased. Dean knew the exact tricks needed to motivate him, and somehow the knowledge that he could achieve one more chin up today than he could yesterday had opened up a window into a future where he could perform even better.

It hadn't been easy and the first steps had been a devastating shock, before a routine had developed, before the logic kicked in that this was always going to be a strain, was even supposed to hurt, that there was absolutely no point in focusing backwards on a time when it hadn't. Forward momentum was the key and it helped clear the blinding fog in his mind, the fear that he hated because he knew it was uncalled for, needed to banish because he could see the echoing effect it had on Dean as he tried not to let it drag him down too.

He was still not performing to his usual levels but he understood now that it was an approachable goal. He had been waiting to get there for so long that he almost couldn't remember what it felt like to be at the peak of his fitness, and in a direct contrast to his emotions when this journey had begun, comparing his abilities now with what they had been in the not distant past was liberating.

He may still have a few steps to go but he was more than ready to face whatever challenges were waiting for them, whatever their next job would bring. And he couldn't explain it, but he knew that Dean knew that too. That with this one glitch of worry out of the way, one last reversion to his need to keep Sam still, and they would be ready to proceed as equals.

As much as he enjoyed going through this work out with his brother, he enjoyed the solitude of being here, of letting his thoughts wander and please themselves, of not having to focus on anything other than the rhythm of his feet as they pounded on the footpath beneath him.

He did miss his fury running companion though. He didn't think he would tell Dean that it was the dogs company he regretted the loss of the most. They had found their pace together; when Sam had first started it had been gingerly and slow, and the puppy's bouncing and unsteady run had matched his own. But as Sam had grown fitter the puppy had grown too, and by the time they had been ready to leave little Dean's pace had vastly outstripped his own, and the dog had had to hold back to stay at Sam's side.

He had been right to think the puppy would grow to be huge. It was already approaching Sam's knees and he knew it wasn't done growing yet. Was still in that bizarrely adorable gangly and awkward stage where its legs were far to log for its body and nothing was in proportion any longer. The one Dean claimed his brother was yet to grow out of.

He smiled fondly. He missed his new friend but knew it would be happy at Bobby's, and as well as the enjoyment he got out of winding the other man up ringing to enquire after it, the dog provided an additional excuse for the three of them to keep in touch, and to keep tabs on what they were doing and any news there might be to share.

Dean was still on his bed when Sam returned, but he had the laptop with him now. Sam wasn't sure if he was scanning for jobs or just bored, but he asked anyway.

"Find anything?"

"Not really. Nothing worth staying around here for anyway. I'm gonna head out and grab some supplies. When you've showered we may as well hit the road."

00000000000000000000000000000

Life was good. He had the sun, the open road stretching for years in front of them, the stereo on full blast, and nothing evil chasing him. Dean put his foot down on the accelerator and smiled at the responding rumble of power. Now if only Sam would sit _still_ for more than two minutes things would be near perfect.

"Are you quite finished?" he enquired as Sam came to rest with an exaggerated sigh and a frustrated glare in his direction.

"I think you've got a spring lose or something in here." He complained, turning in his seat giving it a reproachful experimental poke.

"Well if you'd just sit still and not aggravate it."

Sam just sighed again and flopped back round to stare out of the windshield at the miles of nothing before them.

"Where are we?" he enquired, just as Dean had started to relax in the belief he had given up his fidgeting. Sam speak for 'can we stop yet?'

Dean just shook his head and tried to push down his irritation. They had been driving for over four hours and he had been planning to stop at the next place he saw – he was hungry – but somehow _he_ was managing to not make a fuss about that fact.

He flicked his eyes over to take in his brother, who had now finally fallen still, head turned away from him to stare out of the passenger side window, and Dean could see in the reflection of the glass that Sam's eyes were closed. He smiled despite himself, finding Sam's irritability strangely comforting. He wasn't sure exactly when the image of Sam struggling to get comfortable in the seat next to him had moved from worrying and upsetting to just plain annoying. But even Sam no longer expected Dean to stop to accommodate his every whim, and usually managed to settle in silence again with only a half hearted attempt to get Dean to stop. And they were in the middle of nowhere right now. Unless he let Sam out to wander along the side of the road for five minutes there wasn't much he could do about it.

"We should hit town in half an hour." he said, noting as he did so a gas station coming up. "Can you hold out 'til then?"

"Sure." And it was a testament to how far they had come that Sam sounded surprised he'd even been asked.

Forty minutes later and they were ensconced in a booth in possibly the dingiest diner Dean had ever seen, but by now he was too hungry to care. But he couldn't help but think if even he was having his doubts about eating in this place it was a miracle Sam had ordered food at all. But Sam looked too engrossed in the local paper to pay much attention to the decor.

"Find anything?"

It was so much a part of their routine by now that Sam didn't even bother to point out that he would no doubt let Dean know if and when he actually stumbled across something. They had been meandering slowly for almost a week without even the hint of anything interesting coming up, and he wasn't really prepared for a positive response when he got one.

Neither, it seemed, was Sam.

"Maybe." The most doubtful positive Dean had ever heard.

"Oh God, lets hear it."

"A woman was attacked at work a few nights ago. In some kind of nursery school."

"Attacked by what?"

"The police think it was probably 'a gang of local youths'" he informed Dean, quoting the paper with an eye roll at its vagueness, "But the woman, er... Melissa Harper, she initially claimed her attacker was invisible."

"So she's crazy?" Dean suggested, although he didn't really believe it himself. As cruel as it might sound, an invisible attacker would break the monotony of the week. It wasn't that the road trip hadn't been fun, and in a strange way with one more hunt under their belts they would probably have appreciated it, but it was hard for Dean to prove that he believed Sam capable or for Sam to assure him his fears were unfounded, when they rarely left the car. And when the reason they stopped each night instead of ploughing on to pastures new was because Dean was still apposed to Sam sleeping in the Impala. And with the schedule he was still following Dean refused point blank to spend a day cooped up with him in a warm car unless he'd at least showered before getting back in it.

"I don't know. Maybe. That's the common consensus anyway. It seems she was beaten pretty badly, she might just not remember much about it, but her injuries are consistent with more than one attacker being present and she sees no-one. She did hear something though. Whispering. From a disembodied voice."

"What did it say?"

"You're not going to leave me this time."

"Nice and ominous. Okay, so how far out are we?"

"Well that would depend on where we are." Sam replied, pushing the article across the table for Dean's input. He had stopped paying attention to road signs when he wasn't driving but Dean always managed to stay on top of where they were.

"Yeah, we're not to far away. You think it's worth sticking around? Doing some digging?"

Sam knew what Dean was thinking. They could poke around and find out it was nothing or they could keep moving. They could still cover a lot of distance, scan a lot of potential cases before nightfall. He knew Dean's frustration would hit its peak if they looked into this and it came to nothing.

"I'll get the laptop." He offered, holding his had out for the keys, "Do a quick scan on the area, see if there's any similar stories going around. Might make the decision more obvious." Dean nodded, understanding how little hope Sam had had of finding anything in the fact he had not bothered bringing it in with him in the first place.

Food had arrived by the time Sam made it back, and after he had set the computer off whirling he seemed to take in their surroundings for the first time. His eyes flicked between the plate and Dean as though asking if he was seriously expected to eat this, but when Dean only glared and determinedly picked up his own fork, Sam sighed and relented. And to his credit he ignored the computers warmed up beep until he had eaten all he was able to stomach, although he glanced furtively at Dean as he did so as though trying to gauge a potential reaction. His fidgeting in the car was no longer causing worry, and Dean knew it was only a matter of time before the habit of picking distractedly at his food while doing other things would decide to make a comeback.

"Try looking at reports from '99" Dean instructed as Sam pulled the laptop towards him. He had been scanning the rest of the article as he ate – one of the perks of being the older brother – following the directions to 'continue on page 17'. "There's some reference to similar attacks that happened about eight years ago."

Sam grunted in acknowledgement, secretly annoyed that he had not finished the whole article himself and already seen that.

He was silent for a while, scanning headlines.

"Yeah, here we go. October '99. Woman was attacked outside the same school, middle of the day. No witnesses. Another about a week later, other side of the town. It seems they were blamed on a gang of high school kids that had been hanging around the area. Then in November a workman was killed checking the meter outside the general store. Big guy. Was apparently beaten to death. After that nothing." He continued clicking in silence for a while while Dean sipped his coffee and contemplated whether his stomach could cope with pie. It was hard to go wrong with pie. Right?

"No, there were no more attacks until this last one. Well, there's been a mugging a couple of months ago. An old guy fell of a ladder in February. Claims he was given a helping hand down but neighbours think he's just a bit senile. Or trying for an insurance scam."

"What about before that?" Dean asked, finally relenting and signalling the waitress over. If they were going to a town where 'old man falls of ladder' made it into the local paper he was going to be in serious need of some comfort food. Sam greeted the questioning eyes asking if he wanted anything else with a glance that suggested he thought _Dean_ was the crazy one.

"More coffee?" It was normally a safe bet with Sam but he merely shook his head with his eyebrows raised. It might be boiled but Sam wasn't sure he even trusted the water in this place.

For the next few minutes the only sound was the tapping of Sam's fingers on the keyboard and the echoing sound of Dean's fork attacking his plate.

"An old woman was attacked in her home, the middle of May 1992. She died in hospital the next day."

"She have anything to do with the school?"

"Nothing obvious."

"But let me guess, no-one was caught and the attack was blamed on local youths?"

"They're not very trusting of their young people around here." Sam observed wryly. "There were a few other attacks in the months leading up to that. Random places in the town. And a young girl from the school turned up one morning covered in bruises. That one was blamed on the parents though. There was a court case and everything."

"What happened to the kid?"

"I'm not sure. She was placed in foster care while it was all going on. The family moved away. We could look into it." He offered, not liking the slightly pained look that had crossed his brother's face. Not that there was anything they could do about it. Even if it turned out there was something supernatural going on and the parents were innocent the girl would be an adult now. They couldn't give her or her family their lives back.

But it was a very real fear, one that they had both lived with. That faced with a child with injuries the authorities immediately jumped to abuse without considering other, what Dean considered more natural, options.

"I take it we're staying then?" Sam enquired, trying to get Dean's mind back from wherever it had gone.

"I guess so. Does it say where the latest victim lives, or would that be too easy?"

"I think she's still in the hospital, which makes things simpler. It's probably the safest place to spend the afternoon too" he continues, eyeing Dean's empty plate suspiciously.

"Aww come on Sammy, don't tell me you're getting soft. We'll have that cast iron constitution up and running again in no time."

Sam just laughed. He'd spent so long training his body he had not considered the need to retrain his stomach to cope with the number of dodgy diners that Dean somehow always managed to find.

"Okay, let's roll." Dean's exuberance had returned. "If we get going now we can get the ball rolling on this thing this afternoon. It'll be easier if we can get in to see her during visiting hours."

Sam nodded, smiling at Dean's return to form, scooped up the papers and his laptop and followed his brother out of the door.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: SEQUEL. The brothers deal with a haunting, a series of violent attacks, and learn why it's not a good idea to even half make a promise you didn't really want to keep.

DISCLAIMER: Same as before

Chapter lengths are creeping up again. It's a sign I've left my plan for the odd random tangent. And sorry, I did try to post this earlier, but the site was having issues.

**Chapter Three**

To his chagrin Dean had underestimated the distance to their next job, and the closer they got into town the thicker the traffic became until he could tell Sam was fighting the urge to get out and walk. They were only a mile out by now, and he would no doubt get there quicker if he did.

It was already a foregone conclusion, but every motel they came across was already fully booked. That didn't stop Sam from wandering into them all anyway, emerging from each with directions to the next one to try and a printed map of the surrounding amenities.

"There's some kind of motorcycle…_something_ going on." He informed Dean, grinning at the way his ears picked up. "Don't ask _me_, I don't know. They're all very disparaging about the whole thing. They hold it every year and the whole town gets inundated with young people and bikes."

"Ahh, could this be the source of the anti-youth vibe I've been feeling?" Dean nodded his head in sudden understanding at why the old man walking his dog had been glaring at him without even trying to conceal his mistrust. And why not even Sam at his most pleasant had managed to get a helpful response from any of the reception desks he'd tried.

"To say they must make a lot of money off this even no-one seems very happy about the idea of outsiders." He commented.

"Well, if this event coincides with random attacks each time its here it's hardly surprising." Dean put in. "Hey, do you think the authorities were maybe half right, and it is the youth element? Something to do with the festival? Every April. Falls at the same time as the attacks."

"The electrician guy was killed in November." Sam pointed out. "But it's worth checking out." He added at Dean's crestfallen expression.

"Well, priority one is finding somewhere to set up base for the next few days, and that isn't going to happen here."

Dean sighed with relief as he pulled into a side street and left the gridlocked traffic behind them, putting his foot down slightly harder than was perhaps necessary but feeling the joy of an empty stretch of road before him, ignoring the slightly reproachful look Sam threw in his direction.

"Well, we didn't really pass anything on the way in." Sam muttered, sorting through the collection of maps that were sharing his seat with him. "The hospital's about 20 minutes out of town in that direction" he said, pointing to the left of the junction ahead of them.

"Thanks Sherlock, don't know what we'd have done without your bizarre new collection" Dean muttered, eyes darting between Sam studying his papers and the large road sign pointing out the hospital 15 miles away to their left.

"If we can find somewhere to stop on the way we'll be closer to the hospital ready. We can get an early start in in the morning. There's probably not much point heading over there now, its gone four already." Sam continued as though his brother hadn't spoken. He wasn't quite sure where the day had gone. It had been late when they'd stopped for lunch but they seemed to have been crawling through traffic for hours.

"Yeah, well we're the state police. They'll let us in to talk to her whatever time we decide to show." Dean argued flashing a grin.

"She was attacked by an invisible force. You really think it's the police she's gonna open up to?"

"Well, what do you suggest?" Dean asked in an 'I know you're right but that doesn't mean I have to admit it' tone.

"I don't know, but the local police didn't take her too seriously and she's been pretty much labelled as traumatised or plain crazy by the journalists around here. I hate to say it but we might have to through in just a touch of honesty if we want to get her to talk about anything 'weird'. Maybe try and connect it to the attacks that have happened previously. Most of the victims then failed to see their assailants too."

"And no-one's ever found that even a little bit strange." Dean shook his head.

"Why go looking for the invisible man when you've got half the states youths on bikes passing through on a regular basis. Even if the timing doesn't always fit."

Dean just groaned at the logic of humans, but it turned into a signal of triumph midway out of his mouth as they passed a large flashing vacancy sign less than five minutes outside the town.

They may not have had bikes but the Impala made enough noise to earn them a disapproving glare.

"Friendly place." Dean commented as they left the reception and headed over to their room, Sam clutching yet another map. "I'd be tempted to hold a bike meet here every year purely to piss them off."

To Dean's dismay Sam immediately slumped wearily into a chair at the small table in the corner of the room and started arranging his maps in front of him. He paused after a few minutes, sensing Dean staring at him.

"What?"

Dean had barely moved since they had got in, and other than dumping his bag near his bed had done nothing but hover and stare at his brother as though debating whether to say something. Sam just smiles to himself and waited, but after Dean had cleared his throat and no words had come he decided to take pity.

"Just go if you want to." He offered, "I'm fine. I got my maps. I'll be here when you get back."

"You're not coming with me?"

Sam did look up at him then, a bizarre combination of surprise and hope lining his face that made Dean strangely sad.

"Really?"

"Why not?"

"Well… I mean… It's bikes and engines and things. I didn't think you'd want your little brother showing you up in front of the biker girls."

"There will be a lot of leather there." Dean whispered wistfully.

"So go." Sam laughed. He couldn't think of the last time Dean had gone out and enjoyed himself without Sam being present. Or when enjoyment was the main reason for the outing and not money. As much as he might like the idea of going with him, Sam had absolutely no interest in the event itself, and he didn't want Dean to regret his decision to have Sam tag along at the first pretty face that smiled in his direction.

"Come on, it'll be educational." Dean cajoled.

Sam gave one last lingering look at the pages in front of him, giving Dean the time and legitimate excuse to withdraw his offer. But Dean had already seen the faint glimmer of hope on his brother's face at the thought of being included. And the surprise had hurt.

"_You_ are a bad influence." Sam huffed at last, throwing down his pen with mock resignation, but he couldn't conceal the bounce in his step as he moved to his duffle to get ready.

"Well I try to be anyway." Dean muttered, his heart clenching slightly at the smile Sam threw him, at the image of a much younger Sam and his excitement over Dean agreeing to let him tag along when he went out for the day, whether Sam particularly wanted to go or not. That look would be gone soon, and while he would miss it, Dean also hoped it would never return.

There were moments when Sam had reverted almost fully into little brother mode over the last few months, even when Dean could see that he had been fighting hard not to give in to the temptation. Dean couldn't say he minded, although he would admit it was at times a little unnerving for his usually fiercely independent brother to defer to his wishes or opinions. He had not been able to work out if it was a sign that Sam was stressed, overly tired, or just strangely exuberant that brought it about, but it was a comfort zone he had felt he needed and Dean had never called him on it. But he knew the instant the job began in earnest the instinct would be buried again, and the grown up version of Sam would return. Dean found it strangely fitting that they would be spending potentially the last day in their childhood roles in the atmosphere of motorbikes and cars, one of the few things Sam still let him feel superior about.

"Do you know where we're actually going? How far away are we?"

"Let me check that for you." Sam laughed, returning to his table of maps.

"Okay, seriously, what's this about?" Dean joined him.

Sam just shrugged looking vaguely guilty.

"Probably nothing. Just curiosity." He offered at last, "There doesn't seem to be any connection between the age, gender or site of the attacks. I just thought something might be more obvious if we could get more of an overview. I was gonna plot the attacks. Place, year and severity. Something might leap out at us… But hopefully not literally," he added with a frown. "I think we're just over a mile away from the main street. This place isn't that big, it can't be much further away from there. Ahh, the conundrum." He pronounced with mock seriousness. "If we take the car there might be nowhere to park it, but how can you show her off if we leave her here?"

"Give me that" Dean responded, snatching the town plan from his brother's hands, "Before I change my mind and make you stay here to look after her." It was only half an idle threat. He'd done it before. But he didn't think Sam's only pseudo little brother willingness to please was going to fall for that one again.

"We've been in the car all day…" Sam hinted his own personal preference. "I don't think the old guy's going to key her. Doesn't look like he could find the energy."

The walk was short enough for Sam to voice the trepidation Dean was feeling as to why they had managed to find a motel that seemed almost deserted during what was no doubt the towns busiest time of year. "Do you kind of get the feeling they know something we don't? Maybe we should run an EMF sweep when we get back. It would just be our luck wouldn't it."

"Well, that's all the more reason not to go back until we have to." Dean replied, striding into the throng of people they had suddenly seemed to join. His pace had acquired a confident swagger that made Sam grin, and for once he actually had to jog a few paces to catch him up before he acclimatised to Dean's new rhythm. That, the number of people wearing leather or overalls, and the sudden presence of about a hundred bikes or engines all conspired together to make Sam feel suddenly about four, and completely out of his element.

Carnivals, motor shows, and an antique weaponry festival. Sam swore, one day he was dragging Dean to a book fair. But he didn't think he could pull off the look of slightly condescending superiority quite so well.

Come to think of it, he could. It just didn't seem to affect Dean in the same way.

"Hey, look at that." And Dean was striding away from him again, leaving Sam trotting in his wake trying to work out what had excited him now.

From what Sam could tell they were in a large field filled with people who loved bikes, who had all got together to show each other how good their bikes were. There was the occasional classic car thrown into the mix but they had nothing on the Impala, although Sam got the impression Dean was glad he hadn't brought the car out of sudden shame at the inch of dried mud on her lower half. Sam would like to see some of these swanky cars wander the back roads for weeks with random detours into cemeteries and forest parks without getting a bit of dust on them.

There was also the occasional stall selling spare parts and accessories, as well as various societies to join and newsletters to subscribe to.

Dean had settled into an air of interested disinterest, knew just what to say and do to blend in while being instantly forgettable. And there were enough families and children around that Sam soon lost the feeling that some form of ritual humiliation was about to ensue. Began to actually enjoy himself, watching the genuine interest that lined his brother's face.

To his credit, Dean had long ago learnt the right level of coddling Sam required in these situations. How much to share without being patronising yet still maintaining his interest. To make him feel included without making out it was a chore to have to include him. To keep an eye on him amidst the crowd of people without having him feel he was under watch. Yes, there were a lot of incredibly attractive and free spirited young women about, on more than one occasion Sam had to genuinely enquire whether Dean was drooling over the woman or her car, but every time Sam would surreptitiously creep away and leave Dean chatting he somehow always managed to find himself following. He couldn't explain it, but it felt like they hadn't done anything as brothers for so long. Not something mindless, something that had no purpose or goal in mind.

It wasn't purely fun time though. Dean remembered the pretence that had brought him here in the first place. Every time he found himself in conversation with someone over 40 Dean would manoeuvre the conversation around to the recent attack, and the ones that had happened in 1992. He could usually follow the train of questioning, but sometimes even Sam wasn't sure how they had got there. One minute they were being told the best brand of chrome polish to use, the next they were being told about the witch hunt that had ensued after the old lady had been discovered dead in her home, they even bought a drink for an elderly woman whose son had been questioned in connection to a young woman's attack the month before. There had been a few altercations between rival gangs and it was assumed she was caught somehow in the crossfire. But no one was ever charged, and everyone had packed up and gone home by the time the old woman was killed. But after that relations between the locals and the meet had been irrevocably altered. It didn't matter that this was the only incident in their twenty year history. It was not going to be forgotten any time soon.

And the town's memory was such that even if they hadn't been here when the man had been killed in November 1999, their influence apparently still lingered, corrupting the town's youth. Although it seemed relations had been pretty calm again over recent years, and as Sam had pointed out, this week was a major source of income for the local area. But with Melissa Harper in hospital the old negative connotations were making a comeback.

"I'd hate to say it but I think it's just coincidence these attacks have happened at a similar time to all this is going on. Of course, we had to check it out, just in case."

"Of course." Sam agreed, nodding sagely. He sighed contentedly, biting into the burger Dean had bought him from an outdoor vender in order to encourage his stomach to be less fussy in its tastes now they were on the move again.

Night had fallen but the field was lit by sets of headlights, like large more heavy duty fireflies that winked on and off at them through the crowds of people. They were sat on a fence at the edge of the field observing the action in front of them. They had already toured the whole grounds and spoken to everyone who might have been able to give them an insight into what had happened in the area 15 years ago. They had even discovered the location of two additional attacks that had somehow not made it into the newspapers, because they involved members of the society and the belief they had done it to themselves. The couple in question were not available to talk to however. They had vowed never to return. Even their friends had not believed their phantom attack story and were more inclined to drum it up to one of their more exuberant lover's quarrels.

But that didn't explain why two previously vocal members of the society had refused to attend a meet ever again.

"I guess we won't know any more until we hit the hospital tomorrow." Dean relented with a sigh. He'd known the dates didn't match well enough for whatever had happened to be linked to this event, but he'd thought they would have got more useful information from such a large group of potential witnesses. But if anything this job was already making less sense than it had in the diner that afternoon.

He could tell that if anything the contradictions were having the opposite effect on Sam, leaving him not so much frustrated as piquing his curiosity until Dean could almost see the cogs whirling in his head as he struggled to make sense of what they were being told.

For Dean the evening had been mostly relaxing. There had been people to seek out and question, but there had also been things to see and women to stare at and Sam trotting at his side eager to please and let Dean have a good time. But as the light had faded he had practically watched that side of his brother fade too. The more they learnt the more invested in the hunt he became until he wasn't that same little brother that had left Bobby's with him almost 2 weeks ago. They had both known instinctively without words, sitting side by side in the moonlight, that their road trip was over. It wasn't just that they had a job again; their entire purpose had shifted, dragging their dynamic along with it. It was like a clawing weight dragging him down. There had been illness, there had been fear and there had been despair over the last three months, but mostly there had just been peace. The two of them and no monsters, no destiny, no uncertainty in sight. But that was what the hunt did. It was hard to have one without the other and Dean was only now beginning to appreciate that. To recognise it in his recognition of the change it wrought on his brother and their relationship. The one Sam allowed them when they were moving and the one at rest. And it was Sam somehow that dictated it, and Dean doubted, watching him now, if he knew that was true. But then it was Sam's priorities that were shifting; on or off the job Dean's remained the same.

Sam sighed and threw his rapper in the trash, indicating that it was time to go, and Dean realised with the depth that sigh carried that it was perhaps naïve to believe Sam didn't feel the heavy weight of change too. Didn't feel the burden more profoundly now his mind and body were no longer at rest. It frustrated Dean to watch the way his face hardened, practically visibly aged during the course of the night through his own insistence it was a weight it was somehow unfair to share.

But he didn't say anything about it. Instead he just nodded to his brother's unspoken question and hopped off the fence too; following after Sam wherever he chose to lead them.

000000000000000

Dean was not in a good mood. He had been functioning in it for less than an hour and already he was realising why their motel had so few guests. Not only were the beds among the most uncomfortable be had ever slept on during his long and eventful career, so much so that at one point he had seriously considered going out to sleep in the car, but they had got back in the dark to discover they only had one working light bulb between them. It had still been light enough when they had left that they hadn't noticed, but the lamp by Sam's bed was the only source of light they had, and Dean had almost broken that one fumbling for its switch in the dark. Sam seemed to find it amusing however, and when he'd returned from the car with a flashlight for the bathroom he didn't bring the EMF in with him as he'd threatened.

But it was perhaps having accompanied Sam on his workout regime only to discover they had no hot water when they got back in that had frustrated Dean the most.

Despite their best intentions the morning was getting away from them by the time they were ready to leave the motel. It seemed Sam and his calculations had failed to take into account his own now extended morning routine. But he would not shirk it now, and it probably also didn't help that Dean had dragged it out even longer than usual to make sure Sam felt no guilt at the delay.

Getting in to see Melissa Harper was easy – Dean had been expecting aggravation after the frustration of the morning. She was sitting partially propped up in bed when they found her, and while the attack had taken place over 60 hours ago her right eye was still puffy and bruised, and she had to squint up at them as they walked in. Her right arm was in a cast. In the brief moment they observed her before she noticed their presence she looked broken, and as much as she tried to rally her spirits to meet them, they knew the damage had been done. It didn't matter how many times they did this, Sam knew he would never get used to the sight. Prayed that he wouldn't. That he would never wake up one morning and find that the violence no longer fazed him.

They went in posing as reporters from an entirely fictional paper, and Sam and his smile managed to somehow reassure her that while they were digging into the story because of its unusual angle, their intention was not to make her out to sound crazy but to attempt to vilify her claims by linking it to other unexplained local events. And they knew just enough about those other attacks for her to believe their story, to maybe feel more secure in her own, and to think that maybe it was okay to tell it one more time.

"Just start at the beginning, and tell us what you remember." Sam soothed.

"I'd stayed behind late at the school."

"Does that happen a lot?" Dean interrupted almost at once.

"Not loads, but we're putting on a play next month. Some of the children have been staying behind after school to help me get things ready. Decorating sets, that kind of thing. I just stayed behind later than most. All the kids and their parents had gone, but I had stuff to tidy away. I was only there another half hour after everyone had left."

"Did you lock up after everyone had gone?" Sam enquired. "Had you locked yourself in?"

"I always do. And the building was still locked up when Mr Graham, the caretaker, opened up in the morning. He… he was the one who found me."

Sam nodded with understanding, pulling up a chair beside her and waiting patiently for her to continue, and a glance at Dean hinted he do the same. Take away some of the height that towered over her.

"And you didn't hear anything, sense anything. That someone else was in the building, maybe watching you, before the others left?" He asked, joining Sam at her side.

"No, nothing. Not until I was on my way out. I was walking down the corridor towards the side entrance, the one we use after hours, and that's when I though I heard whispering. I called out. I though it was unlikely but I didn't want to find one of the kids or parents had slipped back in and I ended up locking them in in the dark all night…" she broke off and shuddered as she said this.

"Did it sound like a child's voice?" Sam asked, hoping to draw her mind back to the present.

"No, not really. It was older. But I'm sorry; I couldn't say if it was male or female. It was too much of a whisper for that. Anyway, I turned to look into one of the classrooms to see if there was anyone in there, and I was grabbed from behind. It sounds crazy, but I swear I was grabbed from behind."

"Why is that crazy?"

"Because I'd been heading down the corridor to the exit. I had a clear view of the whole hallway and it was empty. I swear it was empty, and the doors were closed. But the second I turned my back on the empty corridor there was someone behind me. They… they grabbed me by the shoulders, swung me around. I was thrown into the wall opposite and banged my head. The rest is a little hazy" she continued apologetically.

"It's okay." Sam soothed, "Just tell us what you remember."

"Well, I was on the floor and they just kept kicking me…"

"They? There was more than one?" Dean interrupted, cursing his own inability to modulate his voice to match the calm that Sam could exude. But it seemed Melissa was used to hard questions and doubt by this point.

"I'm not sure. There was only one voice, but they seemed to be everywhere. I had my hands in front of my face, trying to shield the blows, but I didn't see anyone. And I couldn't gauge where the attack was coming from. It seemed to be from everywhere at once."

"What did the voice say?"

"At first I couldn't really make it out. It was too quiet. I could just tell there was someone there, you know. But while they were… I could hear… It said, it said I wouldn't get away with it this time. It kept saying… that it wouldn't let me leave. 'You're not going to leave me again.' That this time it was… it knew how to make me stay."

"Do the words mean anything to you?" Sam asked.

"No!" She was more animated now, but Dean got the impression it was more out of curiosity than frustration at being asked the same questions again. A glimmer of hope that maybe Sam's tone suggested he believed her, even if his questions seemed to hold doubts.

"Like I told the police… I'm not even _in_ a relationship. They think that maybe it was a jealous boyfriend or something. Or an admirer… but…" She trailed off blushing. They were witnessing her at her lowest, her face still badly discoloured from the attack, and she was embarrassed admitting to them that she didn't have a boyfriend. Wasn't even aware of a potential one, even a potential stalkerish man in her life. Sam couldn't help the warm smile he threw at her at that. She was hurting, but she was also determined to be believed, and he knew that in time she was going to be okay.

"How long have you worked in the school?" Sam asked her.

"Umm, almost three years."

"Have you ever heard of anything like this happening before? Has anyone ever been hurt there in the past?"

"No, not that I know of… I mean, not while I was there. But since… well. I've heard things since it happened, like the other attacks you were talking about. I think some might have taken place around the school in the past, but I've not really been in much of a position to look into it, you know?" she finished ruefully.

Sam nodded his understanding. "What about in recent weeks. Any little incidents. Kids getting more scraped than normal in the playground. Anything unusual at all. Even just a feeling… like the one you felt before the attack. Have you ever felt that before?"

"No, not that I can think of. I've never felt unsafe there before if that's what you're asking. And no-one else has ever said anything to make me feel like I should be. And there haven't really been any accidents. I mean, Becky fell down the stairs last week, but…"

"Becky?" Dean chimed in.

"One of the teaching assistants. She's on placement with us, only 19. Clumsy thing, but she loves kids. But she fell. Like I said, she's clumsy. Stuff like that happens to her all the time."

"Where's Becky now?"

"Still at the school. Her ankle was sprained, they thought she might have to take some time off for health and safety reasons, but she pushed to come back. Said it wasn't that bad. She never said anything about it not being an accident. She didn't seem worried to go back there…" Melissa replied, her voice darkening a little to suggest she was not yet ready to share those feeling.

Sam nodded again and looked at Dean, asking if there was anything else he wanted to know or if they were safe to rap up the interview now. Melissa seemed to sense that they were done, and was a little surprised.

"So… what do you think happened?" she asked, hopeful that they might have answers for her. Some reassurance that the police, maybe even her family, had not yet been able to provide.

"Honestly," Sam confessed, "we're not sure yet. But you're not the only one who's had an experience like this. We just want to make sure you're the last." He assured her, touching her shoulder slightly as he rose to go.

"I'm gonna leave you my number." Dean told her, placing some paper on the stand by her bedside. "If you think of anything, remember anything at all, no matter how crazy, call us. Anything at all might help."

"Crazier than being attacked in a locked building by the invisible man?" She asked him, breaking into the first real smile they'd seen since they'd arrived.

"Exactly. So there's nothing too odd you'll feel you can't tell us, okay?"

She nodded her thanks and they left her, looking slightly less defeated than she had before.

They stopped to talk to her doctor on the way out but he was reluctant to discuss anything with them. Had already had enough of journalists poking around asking the same questions. It didn't take them long to realise they would get nowhere with the direct approach.

"We really do need to know if there's some official explanation for her injuries" Sam complained softly as they moved away. "Whether they really are consistent with there being more than one attacker. If there was any trace evidence on her clothes, at the scene, I mean…"

He broke off when it became apparent that Dean was not listening to a word he was saying. Instead, the older Winchester's gaze was fixed firmly on an incredibly curvaceous brunet nurse that was staring at them shyly, partially concealed around a corner.

"Dean!" Sam hissed, willing his brother to focus.

"Yeah, I know. I'm on it." He said, giving Sam what he could only assume was supposed to be a reassuring pat on the chest and striding away. Dean said nothing more, but from the fact he threw the keys over his shoulder in Sam's direction, he got the impression he was supposed to go wait in the car.

000000000000000000000000000

"The school caretaker opened up early that morning, found Melissa pretty much straight away. 911 call came in about 6am. _Stephanie_ just happened to be on shift that morning" Dean announced sliding into the drivers seat of the car. Sam shook his head at the wistful way Dean said the nurse's name, but while he might not admit it he was impressed. They both had their area of expertise, and while Sam might be able to cajole victims of traumatic events into giving honest accounts, teasing information out of nurses defiantly fell more into Dean's remit. Life was just unfair that way.

"They sent paramedics to the scene. Neither they nor the caretaker saw or heard anything odd. Grahams even did a brief sweep of the school to see if he could find the attacker. Nada. Doors and windows all locked. From the inside." He continued proudly, although he was equally as proud of his abilities to extract information from pretty young nurses as he was his little brother training skills. It had not escaped his notice that Sam had automatically opened the car and sat in the passenger seat waiting for him. Not that he would point this out.

"Melissa was still unconscious when they brought her in." Dean continued, his tone shifting immediately from playful to serious. "She had sever concussion, partly from when her head struck the wall, but the majority of blows seemed to be concentrated on the upper half of her body. She broke her arm trying to protect her face and has a couple of cracked ribs. It doesn't sound like they can really tell how many attackers there were, its mainly from the severity in such a short space of time they think it was more than one. Stephanie's Melissa's nurse, they've known each other since she moved to the area, when she first got the job at the school. She overheard a few things. Doctors and the police talking. Just looking out for her friend you understand, not prying. Anyway, it doesn't seem to be obvious what she was attacked with. The bruises are just that; no hand prints or tread marks, no way to tell if it was more than one foot that kicked her. She doesn't even seem to know herself what she was hit with, just that the blows came thick and fast.

"But there's no sign that anyone was in the school with her. Police are figuring that to get in and out to do this they must have had a key, which narrows down the list of suspects. Only it turns out they all have alibis." Dean shrugged and broke off. What the police thought happened was of little concern to him.

"Why didn't it kill her," Sam mused quietly, "I mean, it's killed in the past. She was alone, she wasn't going anywhere. Why..?"

"Maybe it's building up to it. There was a whole spate of attacks leading up to that electrician's death. Maybe it's just getting started."

They dropped the car off back at the motel so they could head to the school on foot, still not trusting the small town's limited parking capabilities. Dean pulled into the lot next to a large work van.

"Hey, where are you going?" he called after his brother, who had left the car and was meandering in the direction of their room, "Town's this way, remember?"

"It's also a mile and a half away." Sam pointed out. Dean just raised his eyebrows questioningly, still not figuring it out.

"I was gonna pee first, is that allowed?" Sam asked with a sigh. Dean nodded guiltily, spinning at the sound of amused laughter from behind him. The man that had given them their room the day before had emerged from behind the van and was watching their exchange with a grin. Noting that he looked in a much friendlier mood than the day before Dean decided to risk making conversation.

"Everything okay?" he asked, indicating to the van.

"We've got some trouble with the plumbing" He responded. "Hot water's off in a couple of the rooms. Should be up and running again in a couple of hours though."

"Ahhh." Dean nodded his head in understanding.

"It down in your room too?" The other man asked, "Well, should be okay by the time you get back."

"We're having a few issues with lighting too." Dean admitted, "Not many of the bulbs seem to work."

"That's easily fixed. Come on, I'll find you some more." He replied, leading the way over to the reception desk. "Why didn't you come over and say something on your way out this morning?"

Dean just shrugged awkwardly.

"Unless you thought maybe it was deliberate." He continued with a knowing smile.

"What…?" Dean tried to protest his innocence but wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

"No. I have no problem with you folks as long as you make no problems for me. You're not going to make any problems are you?" he asked, suddenly suspiciously stern.

"What. No, why…" Dean was thrown by the direction this conversation was taking.

"That pal of yours. Something iffy about him, that's all."

"Sam!?" Dean wasn't sure whether to be outraged, or amused that his brother's old people appeasing skills had gone so array.

"No, not him. The other one. Came here looking for you this morning, not long after you'd left."

That got Dean's attention. "Who was it?"

"Thought so." The other man commented seriously, noting immediately the way Dean's demeanour had changed. "Don't worry, I didn't tell him you were here, so you might want to keep that car of yours round the back. He didn't seem to know your last name but he could describe your car pretty well."

"What did he want?"

"Said you owed him something and he was here to collect. Whatever it was he wasn't telling me. Now I don't want any trouble. I don't want to find out I did the wrong thing by not telling him you were here but, well. As you can see, I'm not exactly rushed off my feet here. And like I said, there was something iffy about him. As long as you pay your money on time and keep your heads down we're not going to have a problem." he finished, fishing out a packet of light bulbs and sliding them over the counter to Dean.

"Did he say what made him think we were here?" Dean questioned. He didn't want to give too much away, he didn't really have any knowledge _too_ give away, to make this man question his generosity, but his nerves were tingling again. The conversation with Bobby the night of the salt and burn was suddenly returning to haunt him. He had not given that man a thought since they had hit the road again. If it _was_ the same man, how had he possible managed to find them? Even Sam hadn't known where they were.

"Not sure. I got the impression he didn't know for sure you were here, just in the area somewhere. You might have noticed, but it's not exactly quiet here this time of year. Plenty of crowds to lose yourself in." He finished with a knowing smile.

"Thank you." Dean picked up the light bulbs but they both knew he wasn't talking about those.

Sam was prowling around the car park obviously wondering where he had vanished to. Dean handed him the bulbs and told him to go and change them while it was still light enough to see what he was doing.

"Where are you going?" He called after Dean, who was opening the Impala once more.

"I'm just gonna move the car."

"Why?"

"I'm gonna put it in the back lot, out of the way for the workmen." He lied, reassured by the way Sam nodded at him and smiled, disappearing through their door once more. Again Dean wasn't sure why he didn't just tell Sam someone was looking for them, but they were just finding their feet again and he didn't want to risk anything that might jeopardise that.

He met Sam back around the front of their room ready to leave, and with a playful shove in the right direction Dean got them moving again, suddenly needing to feel his brother's solid presence beside him in a way he hadn't given in to for so long.

00000000000000000000

The school was easy to find. By the time they'd walked down there it was throwing out time and all they had to do was follow the hordes of young mothers, fighting against the stream of pushchairs and small children that were vacating the premises.

"Do you think we should go over and introduce ourselves now or wait for the kiddies to leave?" Dean asked, pointing out a man in a smart suit talking to a group of parents, who obviously seemed to hold some position of authority.

"I don't think it'll take him to long to notice us somehow" Sam pointed out. Two men without the hint of children in tow peering eagerly into the school yard would not go unnoticed for long. "But perhaps that's not the introduction we were going for."

"Point taken." Dean agreed, actually having to dodge out of the way of a rampaging child.

The principle was watching them suspiciously, and at Sam's friendly wave was striding over towards them.

"Is there any other way of doing this?" Dean whined as he approached.

"We need to tour the whole grounds."

"But dude. Seriously…"

"They're gonna think we're gay anyway…"

"But…"

"Fine. It's all yours." Sam stepped valiantly aside to allow Dean to take the floor.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"I sure hope so. Hi. My name's Dean, and this is my _brother. _I'm new to the area and I'm looking into schools. I know it's short notice, but I'm only gonna be here for a couple of days and there seems to be so much stuff to have to sort through before the move. You don't mind if we have a look around, ask a couple of questions do you?"

Dean flashed his most winning smile, practically daring the other man to turn them away. He looked to be considering doing just that for a moment, but just as Dean was about to attempt a follow up tactic the other man relented.

"Of course, but it'll have to be brief I'm afraid. My name's Simon Wilson, I'm the principle here. How old is your...?"

"Son. Sammy. He's only six but he's a precocious little devil. Not that he'll give you any trouble, I'm sure." He hastily threw in, choosing to interpret that as the reason behind his brother's glare.

They were treated to a brief tour of the grounds and amenities, and Dean had to fight hard to conceal both his growing boredom and his concern over the number of completely in character school related questions Sam managed to ask to get the man in a relaxed and talkative mood, while Dean, the supposed father, could think of absolutely nothing to say. He was beginning to realise why Wilson would probably be left assuming they were a couple, since it was his brother doing the majority of the talking. He just hadn't though anyone would have bought the idea of Sam having a 6 year old child.

But it wasn't long before Sam and the principle had pulled slightly ahead, and Dean and his silence were partially ignored. He trailed at the end of a corridor pretending to be engrossed in some artwork on display, and when he was sure the others were far enough away that he wasn't being observed, pulled out his EMF meter. He kept the headphones plugged in but tucked away in his pocked, relying on light alone, not sure if even Sam could come up with a convincing curriculum related reason for his actions if they were overheard.

He could hear Sam laughing at a comment he hadn't realised had been intended as a joke, and as the pair rounded the corner Sam gave him a jaunty wave before disappearing from view.

Dean frowned to himself, and if someone had asked him if he was more uneasy about the reading he was getting or how much thought Sam had obviously put into this kind of situation, he wouldn't have been able to give an honest answer. It wasn't something he'd ever had the time to stop and think about, wasn't something they'd ever discussed, but if Sam had contemplated getting married there was every possibility that he had given this more thought than Dean realised. Sam was the baby of the family. It brought a surprising ach to picture him in a whole new role. To know he would never dare seriously ask if Sam had pictured it too, because there would be nothing but pain for both of them in the answer.

Shoving the device hastily back in his jacket pocket he hurried round he corner after his brother.

"Ahhh, there you are." Wilson was striding towards him again. "As I was just explaining to your...er... brother here" Sam just shook his head slightly behind the other mans back. "I have a meeting I need to be in. Shouldn't be more than half an hour or so. Feel free to have a look around. Make your way over to my office on the second floor when you're done. I've got some literature you might want to take away and look at, and we can go over any questions _you_ might have then, okay."

"Sounds like a plan." Dean agreed, shaking the other man's hand. He waited until he was out of sight before swatting his brother on the arm.

"What the hell was that?"

"What?"

"That? How do you even know what's on a 6 year olds curriculum?" he hadn't been going to ask but he figured Sam would find it strange if he wasn't critical of him encouraging the whole gay angle by monopolising the conversation.

"I did go to school." Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, but that was like, years ago. And what was the whole test score break down thing?"

"What!? It's what you ask"

"And you know this because?"

"I've been on my fair share of new school tours Dean. I think I memorised Dad's spiel by the time I was 9. Why?" Sam was regarding him curiously now.

"No reason." Dean shifted guiltily before pulling out the EMF once more.

"You getting any readings?"

"Kind of. You?"

"Kind of."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Hey, you asked." Sam defended, wandering away before he was asked to elaborate.

"Well okay then." Dean muttered, frowning again at the EMF held out in front of him.

"Where are you going?" He hissed after Sam's retreating form, glancing around him as though expecting to see in broad daylight whatever it was that was making the needle quiver.

"To the corridor where Melissa was attacked?" It was a question because he wasn't quite sure why Dean though he was going anywhere else. Dean just scowled that he had been caught asking. Of course that was where he thought Sam was going; it was the part where he was wandering off by himself in a building that echoed with EMF he claimed to actually _feel_ that Dean had been questioning.

When Dean caught up with his brother Sam was standing in an open hallway overlooked by a veranda from above, standing stock still, head cocked slightly to the side as though listening intently in a way that Dean found less than comforting.

"What?" he whispered, drawing up along side him.

"Huh?" Sam shook his head as though clearing it of fog. "Anything?" he asked, indicating to the machine in Dean's hands.

"Dude, there doesn't seem to be a part of this place that isn't picking up something. It's low though, like background noise. I don't know if there's any one spot that… Whoa! Did you see that?" the needle gave a brief dart into the more noticeable spectrum before falling almost still again. "It's like, the middle of the day."

"Whatever this is, it's never really seemed to care about that one way or the other." Sam replied.

"What are you feeling?" He wasn't really sure he wanted to know, but Sam was sticking pretty close to him as they made their way down the corridor towards the side entrance, where Melissa Harper had been attacked.

Sam just shrugged and sighed, slightly apologetically. "Nothing specific. But... you don't feel like there's something here? Or something's _been_ here." He sounded almost hopeful, and a part of Dean wanted to give him the reassurance that he felt it too, but another part of him was just glad that he didn't.

But Dean and his readings _were_ coming to a similar conclusion. The readings weren't strong enough to suggest there was something strong and violent in the immediate vicinity, but there was still enough of a residual reading to suggest it had been here at some point.

"Doesn't seem to be linked to one particular spot either." Dean commented. The frequency he was picking up from the location of the attack was no different to anywhere else they'd come across.

They poked around for a few minutes but there wasn't really anything to see. Not that they had expected anything obvious. Paramedics, police and the school's cleaners had been here before them, and they wouldn't have opened back up for business if there were any impressive or unusual markings or blood spatter to take in. Children were no doubt impressionable that way.

"You think it's something linked to the school?" Dean asked at last, stuffing the EMF away. They'd been through most of the internal rooms and it was about time they rejoin Mr Wilson in his office.

"I'm honestly not sure. We've seen more attacks recorded around here than anywhere else, but none of the deaths occurred here."

"This place is creepy." Shuddering at a wall full of brightly coloured stickman artwork.

"Because its' haunted, or because it's small town quaint?" Sam asked innocently.

"Honestly?"

Sam just shook his head.

"You don't think this is creepy." Dean teased, picking up a neon clown doll from an overflowing shelf of toys in the corner of the room and waving it menacingly in his brother's direction.

"Dean! Put it back!" Sam scolded. But the fact that he was backing away didn't encourage him to put down the toy. A stern throat clearing from the doorway did however.

"Mr Wilson, we were just coming to find you." Sam responded innocently, eyes fixed on the clown until he was sure it had come to rest safely between an equally creepy porcelain doll with only one eye, and possibly the oldest looking bear Sam had ever seen.

"Yes, yes we were." Dean continued striding forwards, deciding he should perhaps take a more active roll in his fake child's education this time around.

"How safe would you say the school is?" Dean asked, once they were seated behind a large desk in the principle's office. "I'm sorry to have to bring it up, but I did read something about one of your teachers being attacked here recently."

Wilson was squirming almost as much as Sam. Dean could practically feel the guilt coming off his brother, his body's automatic response to being sat in front of the large oak desk in the principle's room. Luckily Dean had never shared this concern.

"I'm sorry, but you understand why I have to ask."

The look he was given said the other man understood, but still wished he hadn't.

"The building is perfectly secure. We've had the police giving it a thorough check over the last few days. And the children are supervised at all times. I assure you, we wouldn't be open if we though there was any risk to the pupils."

"You've not had any trouble with parent confidence?"

"No. We've done everything we can to assure people what happened was an incredibly unfortunate accident, but is in no way a reflection on the school, staff or children."

"And they still have no idea what happened, how someone could have got in here?"

Wilson was looking understandably uncomfortable. "I'm afraid you've caught us at an unfortunate time. Obviously the matter is being taken very seriously, and security is more aggressive. I can only do my best to assure you it was a one off incident that will not be repeated."

"So nothing like this has ever happened before?" Dean asked, with a subtle mixture of suspicion and relief. "You've never had any incidents like this in the past? Because I have to admit I've heard some alarming things while looking into the area. Sammy's… impressionable…"

"Ahhh. There can be quite a lively young scene around here at times, but despite what some people may be trying to lead you to believe we never have any real problems with them. As you might have noticed there's a motor festival on at the moment. If you were here next week you'd be given a completely different impression of the place. It's normally very quiet, friendly, community driven. I'm just sorry you chose this week to come see us. I can assure you this type of thing does not usually happen around here."

"So, until this week things at the school have been pretty quiet. Normal school like?" He knew this man was not going to tell them otherwise. They'd debated whether getting information or access to roam the building would be the most useful, and their current aliases had pretty much slammed the door shut to an honest account. But they had heard about happenings at the school from Melissa, and the streets were too packed with people, even at night, to allow them to feel comfortable about breaking and entering to get a tour of the school after hours.

"It's just…" apologetic smiles all round, "We were talking to some guy in the bar last night. He told us there'd been another incident here a few weeks ago. One of your TA's…"

Wilson's demeanour instantly changed. "I don't know who you've been talking to, but I can assure you that was an accident. The girl slipped. Fell down some stairs. Her ankle was hurt but there was nothing sinister involved. She admitted to that at the time. It's only in light of recent events that she's changed her story."

"So there's nothing to her claims?"

"Of course she wasn't pushed. Girl's been tripping over her feet since she got here. Never was a more clumsy human being. But to take advantage of Melissa's troubles like that… and blaming it on McAlister. Honestly. I don't know where she even managed to drag that story up from."

"So there's no truth in it.?" Dean had no idea what he was talking about, but since he was the one that had brought it up he thought it best to play along.

"Not unless you believe in ghosts, no." Wilson answered scathingly.

"Gho..?"

"You were under the impression McAlister was alive." Wilson nodded, suddenly understanding the line of inquiry.

"Well…"

"Look. It's a stupid story that crops up every couple of years. I haven't heard it for so long I was beginning to think it was well and truly buried."

"What..?"

"Now if you gentlemen have seen enough I really should be getting on." And before they could think of an adequate response he was already on his feet, shaking their hands, and ushering them out of the door. Whoever McAlister had been, it was clear this man was not willing to discuss him.

"Well, looks like we might have a name to go with our ghost." Sam commented as they made their way across the yard and off school grounds.

"Maybe. It's still not a lot to go on though." The EMF was back in his hand again, "There's even a reading out here. If this guy _is_ haunting the school he isn't focusing on a specific part of it."

"And none of the deaths have occurred here." Sam reminded him.

"So what? He's haunting the entire town? What the hell happened to him?"

"I say we go find out."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: SEQUEL. The brothers deal with a haunting, a series of violent attacks, and learn why it's not a good idea to even half make a promise you didn't really want to keep.

DISCLAIMER: Same as before

**Chapter Four**

By the time they'd hunted down the town's library and records office it was closing, and the pedestrian traffic was beginning to pick up. Like with the school, there was no safe way of guaranteeing they would be able to break in and conduct their investigation without being discovered. In the library they would not be able to work under the cover of darkness. They would need light to read, access to the computers and online records. It would be hard to do all that and go unnoticed from the street.

Sam offered to do a scan when he was back at the motel, but Dean couldn't help the frustration he was feeling over how slowly the case seemed to be progressing. They had been on their feet collecting information all day, and by the end of it they had come away with a name. They were a name closer to understanding what was going on here than they were in the diner yesterday lunchtime.

The number of people milling about was proving to be both a curse and a blessing. It was hindering how obvious they could be in their enquiries, but Dean had not forgotten what the old man had told him back at the motel. If they didn't want to be seen there would perhaps be no better place to be.

Unfortunately that sentiment worked both ways.

Sam may have been the one who had his senses tingling back at the school, but as they wandered through the milling streets Dean was definitely beginning to feel the prickling sense of unease. He didn't know why or where, but he knew that someone was following them. Had probably been following them for weeks. While it might be harder for this guy to pick them out amidst the crowd, it would also be easier for him to blend in. Remain unseen. If he _was_ a hunter, it was not an advantage Dean was comfortable allowing him. He already had the most important advantage of all. He knew exactly who they were, what they looked like, and what car they drove. While they knew absolutely nothing about him.

Nothing other than that he was here, and that he wanted something.

And Sam didn't even know that much.

He was secretly glad Sam was hinting that he didn't particularly want to leave their room tonight. Watching Sam and every other face in the crowd would no doubt prove to be exhausting. And indoors with the curtains drawn and the door locked they stood even less chance of being seen as they did in the street.

They picked up enough supplies on their way back so they could sit and eat in the motel, and there wouldn't even be the necessity to find dinner to force them to leave it again once they got there.

Dean had been uneasy moving through the crowds of people because of what they potentially concealed, but during the long walk on the more deserted road out of town he was equally as concerned that they were no longer hidden. If Sam picked up on his fluxuating mood he kept it to himself. He probably attributed it to general frustration over the job at hand, and Dean did nothing to make him think other wise. He would not lie to Sam. If he was asked, he would tell the truth. He would just have to be careful not to be asked. The truth involved admitting he had known about the potential threat for some time without breathing a word about it.

Sam might have been talking about heading straight in and hunting down information on McAlister; if the library had been open they would have been well into it by now. But unlike the library the motel came with a bed, and that proved to be too much of a distraction. In fact the first thing he did once they were through the door was to flop straight onto it, giving a laughing moan of complain as he realised it was not quite soft enough to allow him to hit it with that much force comfortably.

Dean sat down slightly more gently on a chair by the window from where he could surreptitiously draw the curtains without arousing too much suspicion. He frowned slightly at Sam's seeming reluctance to move again, then frowned at himself for not having expected it. Yes, they'd been keeping up with Sam's training, but he'd also been sat in a car for the last week. They'd done more walking in the past two days than they probably had in the month leading up to them. It was stupid to think it wouldn't have taken a toll.

Dean sighed wearily and distractedly, resting his head in his hands, running his fingers through his short hair trying to knead out the tension and indecision. He had not expected the transition back to hunting again to be stress free, but he hadn't expected it to kick in this heavily this soon. He couldn't lie, even to himself; being in that hospital had unnerved him. Seeing what that spirit had done to that woman. He wasn't sure he was ever going to be able to wander those white corridors again without remembering all the time he had spent wandering similar halls over the last year.

He was uneasy about the job – an unknown something that enjoyed beating the crap out of people. He'd never say anything, but like he wanted Sam anywhere _near_ this town. Sam hadn't needed the EMF to pick up on the presence in that school, and Dean loved his brother but he'd forgotten how plain freaky that could be. The vague niggling threat of the man who had approached Bobby looking for them was becoming much more real, and if his original story had been true he would have contacted them by now, or at least left a name or way for them to contact him. It was all Dean could do not to pack Sam back in the car and head for the hills.

He hated himself for thinking it, but it didn't matter how much Sam's initial tiredness was perhaps to be expected, it was one thing too much. One worry more than he could easily deal with. And it was the one that would ensure that he kept all of his other concerns private. There was nothing Sam could do with the knowledge other than worry about it too, and Dean could at least protect him from that. For the short term at least.

Sam had said he'd do the research tonight. Was Dean allowed to offer to do it for him? Where did that stupid line now sit? They one between being helpful, and trying to limit Sam's burden and involvement? Was that line even there anymore or was he the only one that saw it? Hovering just out of reach. Stifling his every interaction that he wanted, no needed, to remain clear.

It was a delicate trade off. The fight would come, it was now just a case of balancing the intensity of it against the peace Sam might have in the mean time.

He knew it wasn't his decision to make. His conscience spoke in Sam and Bobby's voice, so rarely his own. He had kept things bottled up in the past, and it had caused them both to come undone. But he hadn't known he was flirting with disaster that time around. Maybe he could fool himself for a little while that if he was aware of the danger he would be better able to guard against it.

Sam was watching him curiously through weary eyes. Dean was a fool if he thought he could keep anything from Sam. Well. He could keep things to himself, but Sam could always read the signs that said there was something wrong even if he couldn't tell what it was.

And when the truth came out Sam never took it well.

It wasn't that he wanted to lie. He took absolutely no pleasure in it. In fact it made him sick to his stomach. Sam's face was lined with only concern and trust. They had both kept their secrets in the past, but he had thought they'd moved beyond that now. Had moved into Bobby's with a new policy of unconditional honesty that Sam had done his part to respect.

"I'm just tired." Sam admitted in keeping with this policy, correctly interpreting where at least part of his brother's unease stemmed from. It was ironic, but if he'd been able to express that while exhibiting a little less guilt then Dean would probably have come clean and told him everything.

"Me too." Well, it was true. It wasn't the whole truth, but he couldn't be accused of lying. "Take it easy for a while. We can find McAlister in the morning. Or maybe I'll give it a go in a bit if you want. Anything to limit library time."

"You don't have to, I'll do it later. Aren't you venturing back out again tonight? I thought that Heather woman offered to show you the benefits of… something to do with bikes, but I'm fairly certain it was a euphemism."

"Which one was Heather?"

"Tall. Blond... The one with the pink bra showing."

"Hmmm. Tempting."

"Well I'm not going to be good company tonight."

"Me neither."

Sam didn't ask him if he was sure, made no indication that he didn't believe him, which led Dean to believe his worry must have been showing on his face. But then, Sam had stopped trying to encourage Dean to leave him and go out, trusting instead that he would when he needed or wanted to without needing an additional push from him.

Dean turned on the TV to distract him from his guilty thoughts, and despite Sam's obvious attempts to stay awake and keep him amused, he soon succumbed to the pull of sleep, and Dean knew that while he would never say anything Sam was annoyed by his own inability to keep with the pace of their lives. It was something he would get better at the more they lived it. He knew Dean was staying in deliberately to be with him, but he didn't question why. Again Dean tried to convince himself that if he had, he would have told Sam exactly why he was nit leaving him alone in their room.

But the evening passed uneventfully, and Dean forgot entirely the search he had been going to do, so by morning they were still no nearer the time when they could pack up and leave, hopefully leaving their stalker in the dust behind them.

00000000000000000000

"I swear, I'm buying you a toaster for your birthday."

"Well don't tell me." Sam complained, "You've just spoilt the surprise." He was sat on his bed eating bread and jam in an attempt to be both economical and healthy – jam was made from fruit after all. It also limited the amount of time they were out of the motel room in view of the world, but Dean didn't voice that upside out loud.

"Hey, don't get that all over the keys or you're going to be buying me a darn site more than a toaster." He grouched, watching his brother drop his own breakfast alarmingly close to the laptop he was working on. "It's all over your fingers now too. Seriously. Who taught you to feed yourself or did you just nap through that lesson?"

Dean refused to dignify that with a response, although he was slightly too busy picking bits of fluff out of his jam to pay much attention.

Since things were progressing so slowly and they had no idea how long the spirit would remain dormant before striking again, they had decided to split up for the day to cover more ground. Sam was under the impression Dean did not want to ruin his near 3 month stretch by setting foot in a library now. He wasn't aware of the ulterior motive of keeping Sam indoors and out of the way.

Dean was looking up the articles on the death of the workman outside the local shop, and the old woman that had been killed in her home, searching for addresses to go with the stories. The deaths had occurred years ago but it was possible there was something about those particular locations that had encouraged the spirit to act out.

They both knew that splitting up would allow Dean to do all the leg work and Sam to spend the day mostly sitting down. Dean was glad to see Sam getting so protective of the computer, because he'd been subdues since Dean had suggested the day's plans. But he didn't argue the case to accompany Dean either, which suggested he really was more tired than he was letting on.

"Come on, I'll drop you off at the library on my way." Dean ordered, shutting down the laptop, information acquired, surreptitiously wiping specks of jam away with his sleeve.

"You're taking the car today?" Sam asked in a suspiciously hurt voice.

"Well, I'm the one trekking all over town. They look fairly residential areas, parking shouldn't be a problem."

"Now, call me when you're done and I'll come pick you up." Dean mocked, watching Sam scrambling out of the car and looking up at the large imposing building in front of them. "Don't talk to strangers. And try to keep out of trouble. And…"

The overly loud slamming of the car door caused Dean to break off his spiel of concern and start again on a whole different track. But Sam had already moved out of earshot or else was just ignoring his yells.

"Kids today. No respect for their elders." He muttered, pulling away from the curb only when hr had seen for himself Sam disappear safely inside his destination. Old habits were hard to break, and when they concerned Sam Dean was resigned to the knowledge they were near impossible.

He headed for the house where the woman had been killed in May 1992. Sam had gone in armed with her name to see if there was any obvious reason she should have been a fatality. If it was in fact related to the apparent haunting at all. But that seemed likely as far as her story was concerned.

The house had changed hands numerous times since the attack. If there was a reason people were not keen to stay in it longer than a few years then hopefully Dean would find out what that was.

He parked out of the way at the end of the road and approached the house on foot. It was an old fashioned street in one of the oldest parts of town. The houses were small but detached. It looked perfectly normal, if a little too homely for Dean's tastes. Luckily it was far enough out of the way of the main street and any other motels for the street to be almost deserted. He smiled when he saw the lack of car in the driveway and a large hedge surrounding the property. This really was going to be too easy.

Dean ducked low so he would remain unseen from the road if any nosy neighbours were peering out of the window trying to make the bores of suburbia seem just a little bit more exciting. There was no noise at all from inside the house. After a quick perimeter scan just to be sure, Dean silently and skilfully pried the back door open and slipped inside.

Inside the house was quiet. He was sure there was no-one home but it always paid to err in the side of caution. Luckily the inside was spotlessly tidy. No surface was cluttered which allowed Dean to move silently, but also unnerved him more than he could ascertain why. Made his nerves tingle in a way he assumed Sam's did when his senses were aroused. He and Sam had barely any possessions to their name, nothing more than they could fit in the trunk of their car – the part that wasn't taken up by their vast arsenal. And yet after more than two nights in any one place those meagre possessions always managed to spread. Since the age of five Sam had to rescue at least one sock from under every bed he had ever slept in. It was a mystery to Dean therefore how 'normal' people could have so much _stuff_ in there lives and yet be so freakishly clean. A home that didn't look or feel lived in was as unnatural as things came. Dean had encountered a lot of phenomenon that wierded him out less.

The old woman had been found in her living room. Luckily the house was small enough that he doubted the room designations had changed much over the last 15 years. He figured the largest room downstairs would have been the living room then too. It seemed as good a place as any to start.

Elena Camble had been discovered by her grandson when she failed to turn up for a family gathering. She was lying face down in the living room amidst obvious signs of a struggle. Someone had managed to get into the house leaving no visible traces of entry, beaten the old woman so badly she had been unrecognisable, and yet they had left no trace of their presence behind. Had stolen nothing. Had left electricals and jewellery standing in plain sight. Had left, locking the door behind them, and leaving the only known key hanging on a hook by the kitchen door. A motiveless, impossible crime that had never been solved.

He scanned the area thoroughly using the EMF, picking up the same faint barely registering yet constantly present signal that had been in the school. And it wasn't just the room where the attack had occurred. The entire house gave off the same residual reading.

Not really sure what he had expected to find but feeling he should at least have pursued one of their only few leads anyway, Dean slipped back out into the back yard. The furniture was all relatively new, the house had moved out of the Camble family and into several different hands since Elena's death. If there was anything here it would need to be obvious. He had been hoping for a spike, some kind of hot spot that might explain why the attack here had been so much more violent than any others. He knew that Sam and his books and records could probably answer the question more effectively than any visual search, but he couldn't help but be disappointed that the answer hadn't jumped out and announced itself to him. The inside of the house looked much too neat and orderly to suffer from typical signs of a haunting, even if it did change hands regularly. He could feel no cold spots, smell no ozone, and the EMF was barely tingling. But it _was_ making an effort. There was something here. Something subtly ingrained in the whole building.

He continued the EMF sweep in the yard, keeping it brief but skirting the perimeter of the property. Again there were no spikes, just the same background level. In fact it stayed the same even as he moved away from the house back to the car.

Dean was just beginning to have the sinking annoyed sensation that the meter was in fact broken, and would give off the same faint whining signal wherever he decided to stick it, when it suddenly fell silent. In the middle of the street in broad daylight.

He gave it a shake and a tap and nothing. A step forwards and it remained silent. A step backwards and the faint emission returned. He couldn't explain it but it was there. He could actually trace some kind of invisible line down the middle of the street half way between the Camble's old home and the Impala. A solid fixed line denoting the area where this thing was, and where it wasn't. And there was absolutely no logical explanation the he could see for why that apparent line was there.

He sighed, stuffing the meter back into his pocket and moving on before anyone came out to question what he was doing jaywalking in the middle of the road, staggering forwards and backwards unable to keep to his invisible line like a loitering drunken lunatic.

He could only hope that whatever Sam was looking at right now, it made a darn sight more sense. Because he would be hard pushed to feel more confused than Dean was right about now.

00000000000000000000

The town library and records office somehow looked a lot bigger on the outside than the in, and Sam didn't think it had been updated since it had been built. In 1847 according to the plaque by the door. The lights were dim and the ventilation almost none existent, but from the sight of the overflowing shelves and the familiar, always comforting scent of old texts and musty manuscripts, he got the impression that every piece of news or book the area had ever produced had been squirreled away in here for a later date. He just hoped the shelves' organisation was easy enough to work out, because there was a mountain of material to get through.

Not having yet reached the twentieth century, let alone the twenty first, all the items were catalogued in a long imposing wall cabinet of index cards; by author, title, and, with a sigh of relief, keywords. There was not a computer terminal in sight. It was a good job he had decided to bring the laptop. Only there didn't seem to be a plug in sight either. He would see how far he got without it for now and conserve the battery.

Armed with only the keyword McAlister Sam was relieved to find he struck surprisingly lucky. Whoever he was he had three whole index cards given over to his exploits. Unfortunately that was as far as his code breaking skills could take him and he had to wander off in search of someone to tell him what the numbers and abbreviations on the cards meant.

The local history librarian was a middle aged woman with thick glasses, who looked like she had never set foot outside the dark musty room and into the world before. She was also by far the friendliest person Sam had come across in this whole town, and seemed to think by the fact he had chosen to spend the sunny April morning in doors with her and her books rather than take in the fresh air and the closing day of the 'noisy bike thing' he was some kind of kindred spirit, and deserving of her entire life story.

But she was fetching and carrying as she talked, with Sam trotting at her heels, nodding sagely when it seemed required and carrying piles of books back to the table. Ten minutes later and they had acquired everything the place had to offer on McAlister. By the way she pointed to the dust ridden and until then unnoticed microfiche machine and suggested he start with the newspaper of May 24th 1902, Sam got the impression that she knew exactly who McAlister was and what he needed to know, but was determined that he needed to go through the exercise of finding out for himself.

It seemed every newspaper the town had ever produced was available in this format, a roll per year, and it was a filing system that Sam could at least understand unaided.

She left him to it and a few minutes later the machine was up and running scanning for May 24th, and Sam was filled with that tingling sensation of being right on the brink of understanding. Mere seconds away from the pieces of knowledge that could potentially slot everything into place.

DISGRACED PILLAR OF COMMUNITY'S SUICIDE CONFESSION

Or not.

"_Prominent local landowner Nigel McAlister was found dead last night hanging from the rafters of the school he had made his own. McAlister, once one of the leading influential figures of the area had been embroiled in treachery and scandal in the months leading up to his death. He provides us with no note or clue, so whether this was the act of a tortured and desperate soul or an action compelled by guilt, a last attempt to escape justice, we shall never know. But many will see the image of a broken man clutching his late daughter's teddy bear to his chest as he plunged to his death the last confession and show of remorse for his sins."_

So McAlister had hung himself. They were getting somewhere. But he had committed suicide; he hadn't been beaten to death. But if there was going to be rumours of a local ghost, especially one linked to the school, he was an obvious choice. And he _had_ died a violent and troubled death on the same grounds where the most recent attach had taken place.

Sam spent the next couple of hours glued to his seat, only moving occasionally to change the reel on the microfiche before him. McAlister had been an important local figure and the papers loved gossip. His tale was incredibly well documented. Sam doubted he would have been granted a more comprehensive account of events if he had been alive at the time himself.

It seemed McAlister was descended form a long line of notable local worthies. His family owned a large portion of the town, and not long after his marriage he had become principle of the local school. As far as Sam could tell it was the same building that still stood, although it had been much more extensive back then.

While the town had been smaller, the school's reputation for both scholastic and religious excellence, and the lack of any competition in the surrounding area, had meant children poured in from near and far to board in the surrounding dormitories. It seemed McAlister had been in charge during the peek of the school's success, and was blamed by many for its decline.

While his public life was a blooming success, McAlister's private affairs were a mess. His young wife ran away with one of the teachers at the school, amidst scandal and speculation that suggested she was pregnant with her lover's child. He left the school and a fiancé behind to flee with her, leaving McAlister, his strict puritan values, and their seven year old daughter Alison behind them.

McAlister's public profile took a turn for the worse after that, although it seemed he was more enraged at the scandal that had taken place right under his nose than upset at the loss of his wife. He had been made to look bad, and the fact that was his primary concern only served to make him look worse.

That, and the fact that Alison, normally a quiet indoors sort of girl, began to acquire a lot more bruises after her mother left than she ever had in the past. Rumour mongers were running wild with the story. McAlister's life was spiralling down the drain and it was all his wife's fault, but as he could no longer take his anger out on her, he turned to the nearest available substitute. His pretty little daughter that was the spitting image of his pretty young, treacherous, deceitful, wife. Not only was she a constant reminder of his failures as a husband and a moral upstanding role model, but there must also have been the nagging seeds of doubt in the back of McAlister's mind that, if his wife had been unfaithful after her birth, how did he know she had not been so before.

The whole town was divided, but they were enjoying the speculation like they'd never enjoyed anything before. Many said that such an honest upstanding man as McAlister could never have laid a finger on his own child. He was too god-fearing to do it. He lived, worked, and breathed children. They were his livelihood, the school his pride and joy. It was scandalous rumours that would no doubt die in time.

But there was also the town's other faction, the one that knew his family's strict religious upbringing, the discipline of his school, his hatred of sin, that believed recent events, the loss of the wife that had been the only thing that had prevented turning his strict heart to stone, was quite frankly too much. He had only required a gentle push to go over the edge, and he'd been given a hefty shove. And the poor girl was the one to suffer.

From what Sam could ascertain the matter had been ummmed and ahhhed about for months but no-one had actually raised a finger to interfere. What if they were wrong? The McAlister's' were still important, wealthy beneficiaries. So the authorities did nothing. And six months after her mother had absconded with her teacher, Alison was dead. The bruises that everyone had been so eager to discuss but so willing to turn a blind eye to had been steadily increasing in number and severity, and the town's silence had been her death sentence.

Obviously suspicion fell on McAlister. It was already there. Obviously he dined it. Charges were finally laid but it didn't matter, as far as the town was concerned he was already guilty. Turnout at the school halved overnight and had been decreasing ever since. But it didn't matter what the authorities had planned because within days of her death Nigel McAlister was swinging from the rafters of the school that had been his pride and joy.

So they had both died, and it was the daughter that was beaten. But she had died in their home, found by the housekeeper, not the school. So whose ghost were they dealing with? Sam was inclined to believe it was McAlister senior – the whispered threats that Melissa had heard seemed to point in that direction too. But then, Alison could have been bitter at her mother leaving as well, if it had effectively unleashed the abuse that had led to her death.

Sam ran his hands over his tired stinging eyes. There was something about staring at these bright old-fashioned screens that was draining in a way looking at a computer monitor for hours was not. His eyes were beginning to water and his head hurt, but then, every other part of him hurt too so it really didn't matter.

He shifted slightly on his hard wooden chair trying to get more comfortable, rolling his shoulders to ease out the kinks. Sitting down was supposed to have been restful he thought with a sigh. He doubted Dean was coming across anything vicious on his search of the two other scenes, but he would still have felt more comfortable if he'd been there to back him up. But he had woken this morning feeling stiff beyond the telling of it. His body felt like it had been asked to run a marathon not spend two days leisurely wandering a town that was barely three miles across from far flung suburb to suburb. And things were progressing so slowly. This was them taking it easy.

He'd given his body some abuse in the past, but he'd been kind to it of late, had been taking care of it properly. It would have been nice if it could cut him some slack. He hadn't felt this bad when he went to bed last night; he'd felt drained but there had been no pain. Now every muscle was sore. And it was the first day in two months that he had not kept up with even the most basic physiotherapy schedule, and he didn't know what upset him more – the knowledge that he would not have been able to do it or that Dean hadn't asked. Because that implied that Dean knew he wouldn't have managed it as well.

The room was dingy and stuffy and he felt like he'd been benched, even if he knew he would not physically have been able to keep up with Dean today. Would not have been able to move at all tomorrow if he'd attempted it. But that didn't stop him from being annoyed at himself for not being up to the challenge.

He was determined that if he was going to spend the day in here he was going to come out with so much amazing information that his inactivity would prove a blessing.

He dragged himself wearily out of his chair and over to the filing cabinet where the rolls of film were stored. Dean was not here to watch him so he felt no need to take the grin and bare it approach to walking, hobbling the few steps, hands clinging to the edge of the work surface for support, with all the grace of an arthritic ninety year old man. But that didn't matter right now because while his body may have crapped out on him his mind was still sharp, still eager to please and show the rest of him up.

Alison McAlister had been found dead on 21st May. Elena Camble had died on 22nd May, but the attack had been on the 21st. He wobbled over to the table where his other books and notes were still awaiting his attention, searching until he found it. Holden Taylor had been killed reading the electricity meter on 21st November. What was so...?

There was no tedious thought process to figure it out, the answer just hit out of the blue, actually rocking him slightly with its force. The two deaths were seven and a half years apart. Alison McAlister had been 7 and a half when she'd died. She'd had seven years of peace, six months of steadily escalating violence, then death.

There was only one way to find out if the theory was correct. And he only had a hundred years worth of newspaper coverage to scan through to do it.

00000000000000000000

The shop where Holden Taylor had been killed was a block away from the school, so Dean decided to leave the car there and cover the last distance on foot.

The pedestrian traffic had picked up again this side of midday. He'd already picked up a sandwich and eaten it in the car so he did his best to ignore the allure of the air conditioned cafes he passed and continued his battle down the street, marvelling at the fact that no matter what direction he decided to move in it was always the opposite one to the crowd. Sam would have had something smart to say in response to that observation no doubt. But then Sam wasn't as smart as he tried to make out. For instance, Dean couldn't help but wonder if he would have the sense to stop and eat something, or if he'd be too engrossed in whatever he was looking at that it wouldn't occur to him until his blood sugar crashed. It wouldn't be the first time.

The general store was larger than Dean had expected, and seemed to sell a wonderful assortment of everything small town America could conceivably need, and quite a few things that Dean couldn't understand why they would. It opened onto the sidewalk with a friendly exterior and an invitingly cool awning shielding fruit from the blazing sun, but a large high wall encircled the building. Dean didn't think there would be any way to climb it solo in anything resembling a dignified manner, certainly not one that would go unnoticed to passers by. Access to the perimeter and meter where the man had died would only be available from inside. He did take a brief EMF reading from the outside of the shop just for curiosities sake, and was not in the least surprised to find the same subtle reading that seemed to pervade so much of the town.

He wanted to look at the meter and talk to the owners about the shop, so it was time to fall back on the same alias they'd used when interviewing Melissa Harper the day before. He could only be grateful the influx of newcomers to the area this week would make it less obvious that in a town where everyone no-doubt knew everyone else's business, they were changing their identities for everyone they met.

Indoors was cool and fairly quiet, and Dean picked out a basket and had a brief browse on the off change the woman behind the counter would be more willing to talk if he's actually bought something.

"Interesting place." He commented as he approached the counter, noting that the isle he was walking down progressed from confectionaries to hardware without him being able to spot a deliberate change. "How long have you had it?"

"Almost ten years now." she answered proudly, if a little suspiciously.

"Really." This could be less of a waste of time than he had been expecting.

Dean quickly introduced himself as a reported working on Melissa's story, and confessed his real reason for being there. Or the closest thing he could get to the real reason without making her call the police. It took some convincing, and the full extent of his charm, to get her over her initial reluctance to talk about what had happened. It seemed she and her husband had been under suspicion for a while and she was not keen to dredge it all back up again, but after he had done his best to assure her they would be in no way incriminated in the article she relaxed a little, and seemed almost eager to cleat her name. To tell her bizarre story to someone who might actually be willing to print it with a straight face. Dean almost felt bad about the fact no such article would ever appear. Perhaps he and Sam should actually start up their own paper, or at least internet newsletter, to balance out the karma of manipulating emotionally vulnerable people into opening up. But then, banishing the violent spirit that had done this would no doubt balance out the cosmic scales. Or it would as far as Dean was concerned at least.

"From what I understand, the death was blamed on a group of youths that had been seen lurking in the area. Have you ever had trouble with kids in here apart form then?"

"No more than any other shop I dare say. The high school's the next town over so we don't really get that many in. I guess it's commented on when a large group hangs out here because it's so unusual."

"Do you remember seeing a particularly large number on the day of Mr Taylor's death?"

"Not really."

"I'm curious… The wall around the side of the property… it's pretty high. It's not like kids would be able to scale it that easily…"

"Exactly" she was getting animated now. "That's what I kept saying. A gang of youths trampling through the shop, attacking that poor man, and rampaging back out again… they would have to have gone right past me. It just didn't happen. Of course, with that lead out of the way the police turned their suspicions on my husband and me instead."

"You were here when it happened?"

"I'm here pretty much every day. I don't know what they imagined motive could be. We were only having out meter read. Was supposed to save us money. Why would we have wanted to kill the poor fellow?"

"Did the police seriously consider you a suspect?" Dean couldn't remember that in the article he'd read.

"Only for a little while. Brian was out of town that week, visiting a sick aunt. I was here by myself, and I was eight and a half months pregnant at the time. It took me ten minutes to get down off my stool and greet the officers, so they figured out pretty quickly it was insane to think I could have done it. Especially the extent of the injuries. That's one of the reasons they thought it must have been a gang. He was banged up so badly."

"And you heard nothing? Even if you saw no-one go through the shop, wouldn't you have heard something?"

"Well, I did in a way. I heard Taylor's tools clattering about. He cried out once but that was it. I didn't have a clue what was happening, thought maybe he's just dropped a wrench on his toe or something. Like I said, I wasn't exactly moving too quickly at the time. By the time I managed to get out and check on him the whole thing was over. I called an ambulance, but he died at the scene."

"This is going to sound strange, but please… Bear with me. Have you ever heard of any similar incidents happening around here? I know the town seems to have an odd history of attacks; they crop up every few years, but what about here in the shop? You've been here for ten years now. Have you ever seen or heard anything strange? Felt as though you were being watched? Any bizarre occurrences, strange accidents, anything like that?"

"Well…" it was her reluctance that made Dean suspect he was onto something.

"Please. It doesn't matter how crazy you think it might sound, anything at all could help us figure out what's going on here."

"Well… sometimes at night it can feel pretty spooky. Like there's someone in here with you. But it's an old building, you know. This whole town is old. It's rickety and things creek, but like I said… we've been here for ten years. We've never felt the need to leave. I don't feel unsafe."

"So there's never been any odd accidents, anything like that? No-one hurt here, other that Taylor of course?"

"Well, not to that extent, no. We have our fair share of mishaps, it's true. The walls are rickety like I said; tend to shift about a bit in the breeze. Warp in winter that kind of thing. Makes keeping shelving up a chore sometimes. Like to fall down on people, but apparently it's a problem the store's always had. And things have been running smoothly for years now."

"Since Taylor's death?" Dean asked innocently.

"I suppose… although recently we've been having issues with wiring and the like, but other than that, everything's been normal."

"Uh huh. I don't suppose it would be okay to go out back and take a look at the scene would it? It won't take long. Just point me in the right direction." The sound of the tinkling bell over the door announced they were no longer alone.

"Sure. There's a door just to the back of the store there. Takes you out into the yard. Meter's just to your left. That's… that's where it happened."

"Okay, thanks… you've been a real help. Truly."

He would look at the scene while he was here, but honestly, he wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though he expected any evidence to still be hanging around after over seven years. And sure enough there was absolutely nothing to see. But when he turned on the EMF, out of habit rather than any great expectation of answers, he got something he hadn't been expecting.

He got a reading.

That meant either the site of Taylor's death actually was a hot spot of some kind, a focus for the spirit's energy, in which case there was still work to do here, or else…

A loud ear-splitting scream tore out of the open door behind him, followed by the sound of clattering from inside the shop.

"Option number two then." Dean muttered, stuffing the EMF away again and storming back inside the store.

The shop floor was pandemonium. The owner and another customer were taking refuge underneath the counter as some kind of hurricane wind was wiping down the isles, lifting off goods at random and hurling them across the room. Dean barely managed to duck in time as a glass jar came hurtling in his direction, smashing into the wall by his head and showering him with mayonnaise. He dropped to the floor with a curse when he realised the next object being sent his way was a hammer.

He hadn't been expecting this, and he wasn't prepared for it now it was here. The only weapon he had on him wasn't loaded with rock salt, and he didn't think he dared introduce it to the chaos that was already present. He was just thinking that the women had the right idea and was preparing to join them in their hidey hole, when movement at the far end of the store made him freeze. And momentarily curse his conscience.

One of the men Dean vaguely recognised from the festival the other night, the one with the strange fixation for chrome polish, was trapped at the end of the isle, and was under siege from every flying object within paranormal hurling range. He had already sunk to his knees in a daze, and was bleeding freely form a blow to the head, and Dean knew that if someone didn't drag him in from the storm soon they were going to have another fatality on their hands.

With a deep breath he plunged into the tumult, hands flailing to ward off blows, a packet of chips to the side of the head, a Hershey bar to the ankles, a six pack to the ribs that nearly sent him sprawling. He realised with a sinking feeling that he was heading away from the confectionaries end of the store into hardware just as a miniature hacksaw came careening his way. He threw up his arms in time to protect his face, letting out a yell as much of annoyance as pain as the small blade slide into the skin of his forearm.

But eventually he reached the semiconscious man at the centre of the attack, scooping him up and flinging an arm over his shoulders he staggered away with his charge back to the counter, where the two women were beckoning to him from the relative safety it provided.

Dean had time to register the younger woman's shrill scream, see the way her eyes opened wide in fright. But before he could question what was causing her to panic something incredibly hard and fast connected with the back of his head and he saw only blackness.

0000000000000000000000000000

Well, it had been annoying beyond reason trying to test it out, but his theory had been correct. Every 7 and a half years since Alison McAlister's death there was a fatal beating in the town, although there was no rhyme or reason as far as he could tell as to who the victims were or where they happened to be when the incident occurred. He still didn't even know if that meant it was the girl's spirit they were dealing with or her fathers. Whether it was re-living its sins or determining to no-longer be the victim. Either way the cycle was well and truly up and running. Melissa Harper's had not been the first attack this year, just the most noticeable. And nor would she be the last. They would continue to escalate over the next month until a final fling on the 21st would leave someone dead. And then the spirit would fall dormant for the next seven and a half years.

He closed off the microfiche feeling so sluggish now he could barely co-ordinate his fingers enough to detach the last roll of film. The headache that had been threatening all morning had now kicked in in earnest, and for some reason was even more apparent now he was no longer staring at the overly bright screen. His eyes were having some difficulty with readjusting to the dim levels of the library proper.

He sat back down at his table and flicked through the texts the librarian had sought out for him, but the pain in his brain was starting to make him feel vaguely nauseous now too, and as much as he wanted to fix himself firmly in this chair and force his body to darn well do as it was told he knew that probably wasn't really a good idea. Dean would no doubt be concerned if he admitted to giving up mid search because he wanted to lie down, but if he either started throwing up or fell asleep before he got back to their room his worry would probably be a little more extreme.

But he would at least work out what, if anything, would be worth reading after the poor woman had spent so long finding them for him.

They were mostly books on the area as a whole that had a brief line mentioning wither McAlister the landowner or school figure before moving on to harvest statistics. There were a couple of items that looked potentially interesting – a book on the school that had a large section on the McAlister family, charting their chronicles as key to the community's educational decline. There was also a surprisingly thick text on local history through gossip and scandals, which of course ran away with the whole tragedy.

He should in theory not be leaving without a location where the two were buried. He asked the librarian as casually as he could but she couldn't tell him. He just had to hope there was a mention of it in one of the books because that was the only part of the story Dean would be interested in hearing. He could always come back himself later this afternoon and search the records office for it, but Sam was officially spent.

It was technically against policy, but the presence of someone under fifty who was actually interested in borrowing something from the library seemed to momentarily throw her; Sam could tell she was secretly keen to agree, and just went through the motions of looking doubtful for the pleasure of hearing him plea. She went to the extent of gathering his name, number, and motel details to make it look like she was concerned about security. He could hear Dean's recriminations in his head as he answered her in more detail than he usually would, but he was too tired now to think of a suitable reason to be cagey about giving out his room number to a complete stranger. She was a librarian for crying out loud; he doubted she ever left this building, probably moulded into the wooden ornate carvings when the sun went down. Who was she going to tell?

He thanked her, tucked the books under his arm, and headed for the exit.

The fresh air hit him the instant he opened the door, and with the first lungful he could practically feel it blowing years worth of dust out of his system, clearing his mind of its aches so effectively he almost considered going back in.

But then the sunlight hit his eyes and he changed his mind again.

Clutching his stack of books to his chest he descended the steps down to the street, pushing away the strange sense of nostalgia; his body's unbidden reaction to the stance. The deja vu would not be followed through to completion because that time and place, that home, no longer existed.

With a sigh he hit level ground, frustrated at the aches in his body at the transition between stairs and not, the old 'it's going to get better' mantra subconsciously returning in time to match the rhythm of his footsteps.

He spotted a free bench further down the road and headed in that direction. He would sit and ring Dean and wait for his ride, a slightly different wave of déjà vu washing over him this time, one that made him smile. He would have sat and waited on the library steps like old times but he physically didn't think he could get that low to the ground. Not and get back up again gracefully, or in any way that wouldn't cause Dean to frown.

He was idly scanning faces in the crowd as he walked, half aware that maybe if Dean had finished earlier than him he would have made his way over to the library to give him a helping hand.

But it wasn't his brother's face that he spotted. Dean looked rough at times it was true, but the sight of him rarely caused Sam to swear in shock and throw himself down a side street into the shadows, pressing himself so close to the wall he could feel his bones grinding against the rough surface of the brick.

He closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the quick fire thoughts and emotions crashing into him, the fear he had done so well to keep in check.

He flicked his eyes back open, breathing hard, heart beating painfully in his chest as though he'd fled for his life for miles rather than sidestepped one pedestrian to duck into an alley.

What the hell was _Kane_ doing here?

He was supposed to be territorial. He was supposed to be in a completely different state. What possible reason could he have to turn up here of all places?

As if the answer to that wasn't painfully obvious.

He was attracting a few bemused glances from passers by, and attention like that was the last thing he wanted from the street, so Sam did his best to smile back and relax, to force some sense of control into his shaking limbs. To remember to breathe before the dancing spots in front of his vision got any worse. Before he caused a whole different kind of scene.

Tentatively he pried himself away from the wall and peered into the street, doing his best to remain concealed in the shadows. There were dozens of people milling about in the street, human traffic bustling in both directions, but none of them were the face he was looking for. Praying desperately that he wouldn't see.

Was it possible he had imagined it? He was feeling more physically and emotionally vulnerable right now than he had in a long while. He'd spent the morning embedded in a tale of misery and death. Maybe his mind had latched onto that horror and run away with it. Made the neat connection to his own most real underlying fear.

Could he let himself believe that when on some levels he had been expecting this for weeks now?

He had not stopped to really contemplate Kane's looming presence in his mind for a long while now. It had always been there and lurking, but his emotions had been busy enough without giving in to the pull of that fear too. He had grown so used to it being there, a hovering constant, the companion of all his doubts over his rehabilitation, that he almost didn't feel it any more. Couldn't appreciate it for the threat it really was.

But seeing Kane here… Even thinking of seeing Kane here, so grossly removed from context, brought it all rushing back. The truth of his words. The creeping knowledge that it hadn't been a lie. It wasn't a trick. He was a blight on everything he touched. A curse to those around him. He'd always felt it, and Kane had merely confirmed it to be true.

It was a warm day, but Sam couldn't suppress the shiver of disquiet. The chill that ran through his veins. The memory of that breath on the back of his neck, that cruel condescending voice. He'd heard it so often since that night it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that he was imagining it now.

He hadn't ignored the impending problem entirely. He wasn't that irresponsible. He'd known it was coming and he'd kept his eyes open for signs of its approach. But none had come. Of all the people Bobby had known that had tried to keep tabs on Kane in the past, of all the times they had been asked, not one of them had ever had anything to report. In the last three months he had not surfaced once. There was not one story, not one unexplained even near any one of his known hideouts, anywhere in the state, that could be attributed to him. All his know lairs were empty. Unused. Had been for a long time. As far as the rest of the world was concerned Kane no longer existed. Had dropped off the face of the earth that night in the cabin when Sam had left him and the vampire to their feud. He didn't even know if anyone was still looking. If anyone was stupid enough to believe they would find him if Kane didn't want to be found.

He knew that Dean and Bobby had bowed to the common consensus that the merchant was no more. Or was at least out of their lives, his operation too badly damaged in the aftermath of that night, his other workshops raided and trashed, that he would no longer pose a major kind of threat. It was beyond Sam how anyone could know what Kane had been capable off and believe themselves to be out of his reach. But then, they were not fully aware of the real reason behind Sam's heightened levels of unease.

He would no doubt have given in and told them by now, but during the first few weeks, when he had effectively clammed up entirely, Dean and Bobby had both been uneasy about the idea of applying too much pressure while he was perceived as being emotionally fragile. And by the time he had been more willing to discuss it Kane had been MIA for almost two months, and the urgency had ceased. And while he may have expressed his doubts over the fact Kane's disappearance was permanent, he had not volunteered a reason behind why.

Behind the knowledge that, as much as he wanted the lack of news and hearty reassurances to be true, he was going to be the thing that proved them wrong.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

**Chapter Five**

"So the shop's definitely haunted then." Sam observed, returning from the motel lobby with some ice rapped in a towel.

"Looks like." He groaned, "I have no idea what hit me."

"Apparently it was a can of spam." Sam was unable to hide the way his lips were twitching in amusement. Now he had got Dean back to their room and assessed his injuries the worry he had been living with for the last few hours was starting to pass, and the relief was almost making him light-headed.

"Here." He said quietly, sitting back down beside Dean on the edge of his bed and pressing the temporary ice pack to the side of his brother's face.

Dean flinched away from the touch and raised his hand to take the pack from him, rearranging it to find a more comfortable position. "It shouldn't look that bad." Sam offered. "Once you've washed the blood out of your hair." He added. While Dean's head had taken the full force of the blow it had hit under his hairline, and unless he decided to develop an excessively large displaced bruise in the near future, he would escape the town's people's curious and sympathetic gazes.

"Want to tell me what happened?" Sam asked, holding up an antiseptic wipe to silently let Dean know he was either going to be holding the icepack or cleaning Dean's wounds, because unless he planned on growing an extra arm he couldn't do both himself. Dean just held out his arm for inspection but remained silent.

"How's the guy?" He asked at last, deciding conversation was necessary to distract him from the discomfort of Sam's ministrations. While the hacksaw blow to the arm was the most serious wound, excepting tinned goods to the head, he had not escaped the encounter without an elaborate array of cuts and scrapes over the rest of his body. He'd never before realised bread rolls could bruise so badly, and was tempted to stock up on a few in the off chance they ever ran out of weapons and he needed something to throw. Sam couldn't help but think he was moving with the grace and agility of Greek God compared to how sore his brother was going to be feeling in the morning.

"He's gonna be okay. They carted him off to the hospital to get him checked over. His head wound looked pretty nasty, but it would have been a lot worse if you hadn't waded in."

"And it just started up out of the blue?" No warning?" He was the one who'd been there; it was slightly infuriating to have to defer to Sam to fill in the blanks. And the part between trying to make it to the shelter of the counter and waking up to find Sam's worried face hovering above him was a complete blank.

"Apparently not. It kicked off not long after you'd gone outside. The women were mostly unhurt, just collateral damage. I think it would have left you pretty much alone too if you hadn't gone in to help."

He finished tending to Dean's scrapes and returned their supplied back to their extensive first aid kit, leaving a bottle of Tylenol at Dean's bedside.

"I'll get you some water." He offered, retreating to the bathroom.

With the door closed and out of his brother's sight Sam lent wearily against the sink, taking in deep soothing breaths. His hands were shaking so badly he would not be able to hold the glass, and he sat down heavily on the side of the bath waiting for the feeling to pass. He ran both hands through the tangle of his hair, willing his mind to focus. To not let Dean see how badly this last hour had shaken him.

He had remained hidden in the alley for several minutes trying to pluck up the courage to leave. To decide whether or not to believe it actually _was_ Kane he had seen or just his imagination running wild. In the end he had decided to ring Dean from his hiding place and not leave it again until the Impala was ready and waiting for him outside the library's steps. The side street he was hovering in was narrow and concealed in shadow. He had never before stopped to consider how open and exposed the main street was. He was positive that if it had been Kane he's seen, Kane had not noticed him. He had no idea how the merchant knew they were in the area – if he did, and if it had even been Kane he'd seen – but he didn't seem to know whereabouts in the area they were. Sam doubted he would be stood here pondering it if he was.

Battling to get his heart rate under control, wondering what on earth he was going to tell Dean when he answered, knowing he needed to say something. But at that moment all Sam wanted was to hear his brother's reassuring voice on the other end of the phone. To hear the words 'I'll be there soon' from that mouth, and the implied 'you'll be safe then' behind them, whether they were deliberately offered or not.

But when his brother's cell was answered, after so long Sam was sure it was about to go into voicemail, it had not been Dean's wanted tones that greeted him. It was some woman, high pitched and squeaky and vaguely remorseful, and Sam had known instantly that something was wrong.

He'd managed to get only directions to the shop and the fact Dean was unconscious out of the near hysterical woman before she'd hung up with an apologetic sob. But at least it banished all thoughts of Kane from his mind. The aches of his own body could not have been less important. Instead, he pictured only the extent of Melissa Harper's injuries, drowning in the knowledge that with each attack the violence would only escalate.

The store was two blocks away and he ran the whole way, and it was only afterwards that he would notice he was moving in the opposite direction to the one the possible Kane figure had gone in. Catching him up would perhaps not have been helpful to anyone.

At the sound of an ambulance's sirens in the distance Sam's worst suspicions were confirmed. Dean had a five minute gap in his recollection of events, but even Sam had no memory of how he had gone from standing in the street staring at those flashing lights approaching, to crouching on the floor over his unconscious brother. The world didn't come back into focus until long after those eyes had begun to flutter.

The other man had been taken away to the hospital to be checked over, but Dean had been stubborn and refused to go. He had submitted to a brief exam, had a light shone in his eyes, and had answered some simple questions like his name and date of birth, made all the less simple by the fact Sam was in no position to confirm his own brother's occupation, not having a clue what story he'd come in spouting. But Sam knew Dean had only submitted to that much of a once over so he wouldn't have to deal with an un-professionally reassured little brother hovering about him for the remainder of the day, and he chose to be grateful rather than annoyed by that fact.

Sam had irritated Dean further by refusing to let him get up and leave, but the pretence of him being still too groggy to stand had provided the perfect excuse for Sam to sit on the floor at his side and listen to the shop owner's account of events to the paramedics, and the police when they arrived. Needless to say, everyone was very sceptical of the freak hurricane wind that had swept through the store, although one look at the wreckage and it was hard to refute the evidence. And there were two and a half coherent witnesses willing to testify to the fact.

Sam found that in itself was curious. This thing had been acting unnoticed for a hundred years. Pulling a stunt like this in a shop in the middle of the day wasn't exactly stealthy. And okay, so the authorities _did_ still think they were all crazy; with the exception of the biker couple fifteen years ago and a man with his child out walking his dog last time around, it had never really been known for multiple attacks. For leaving witnesses to support its victims claims.

He didn't like to think that maybe it was getting more sure of itself. It had done enough damage in the past.

He stood slowly and worked his aching muscles. His head was still pounding but he had not been on the receiving end of a supernatural encounter. He would not steal his brother's thunder. Not give him a reason to focus on something other than his own wellbeing for the time being.

He couldn't deny that finding Dean like that had freaked him out. And Dean knew it too. Truth be told, he sensed Dean was a little uneasy about it himself. They'd been mishap and injury free for a long while now. They both knew that despite their intentions to the contrary, this would be the first of many more to come. It was unavoidable in their line of work.

He quickly took the two pills he had slipped from the bottle while Dean had been preoccupied inspecting the damage to his head. Then he finally got round to filling his brother's promised glass with water and pushed the door back open into the bedroom, partially hoping too late that Dean was still too preoccupied to notice how long that simple action had taken him.

Dean was never one to let little blows to the head slow him down, and he seemed to be more annoyed that he had let this thing get the better of him than he was hurt. He would no doubt ach for a while, but he would live. Sam was hovering wondering where to put himself though, so Dean decided it was past time for him to recount his own findings of the day.

Sam was more than willing to do so, but just as he'd expected Dean's first question when he'd finished McAlister's tale of woe was:

"So, where are these suckers buried?"

"No idea." Sam admitted sheepishly. "I didn't have time to check. And you kind of distracted me." He defended. He would not be admitting to the real reason he had failed to complete his research, although now the adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off Sam doubted he would be able to hide it from Dean's heightened big brother radar for long.

"I've got some books and records still left to plough through though." He reassured, pointing distractedly to the pile of books he'd brought away for later perusal.

"Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm okay."

"I know."

"I've got a hard head."

"I know."

"So, what..?"

Sam just shrugged and collapsed on his own bed with a sigh.

"Tell me about it." Dean said with a chuckle. Sam just glanced at him curiously. "Well is it just me, or does it feel like we've been here for weeeeks" he claimed, emphasising the last word to stress his frustration.

"Well... if we figure out where their graves are this evening, we could be outta here in the morning."

They both cocked their heads slightly hopefully, taking that prospect in, but were both aware that they couldn't ask about the others eagerness to leave the town without admitting their own.

"No go." Dean realised at last with a sigh. "It's the last day of the festival. Everyone's gonna be on the streets come nightfall. I'm not sure how we'd explain wandering around looking for the cemetery carting shovels and a gas can. And someone's bound to spot the illicit bonfire. I think we're gonna have to leave it until tomorrow anyway – just hope it's had its fun for today." He finished, feeling his bruised head ruefully.

Sam nodded his agreement. If he didn't have to worry about locating a body to burn before nightfall then he would avoid approaching the books again until his headache had cleared a little.

As much as he wanted to stay in bed and never have to move or think again, Sam insisted in going out to fetch Dean something appetising for dinner rather than having him wounded _and_ relying on the Dean interpretation of food they'd picked up the night before.

He brought in something for himself out of habit rather than any desire to actually eat something. Dean had showered and given in to his urgings to rest for a while, but now he was wide awake and acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Sam knew if it was him that had been discovered unconscious on the floor he would be lucky to be let out of bed to wander to the bathroom unsupervised before morning, but he had lived with Dean for long enough to know by now that the same rules simply did not apply to him, and it was not worth the energy fighting about it, because he had never yet won.

He honestly didn't know if Dean was more concerned that Sam was in close proximity to a book and not attempted to read it yet, or at the food he was making no attempt to eat. He didn't think the Dean had really bought the disgruntled assurances that _of course_ he had not got so engrossed in the history of the place that he had forgotten to stop for lunch. Deciding that reading was the lesser of two evils, but munching on an apple in an attempt to neutralise the other, Sam flicked distractedly through the books he had borrowed from the library, trying to ignore the way Dean's eyes were boring into him from across the room. It never occurred to him that he wasn't bothering to keep up the pretence enough to make any notes.

Ironically, if Dean hadn't been staring at him in a way that let Sam know something was going to be said the second he stopped, he would have long given up and gone to bed.

"Do you have to?" he asked at last, too close to begging for his own liking. "It's a little invasive."

"I was just wondering when you were going to _give it up._" Dean admitted, half exasperated, half amused. Sam refused to make eye contact, wondering desperately how to maintain control of this conversation, noticeable tensing as Dean pushed aside the laptop and came over to join him at the table.

"You don't have to prove anything." He muttered, almost inaudibly, taking Sam's cue and keeping his eyes fixed on the tabletop and not his brother. "Nobody's expecting you to…" he broke off, searching for a way to say it without Sam taking it as a slight or lack of confidence. "We've got nowhere to be. We're gonna take whatever time we need to, okay?"

Sam said nothing, shifting almost as guiltily as he had in then principle's office the day before.

"Okay?"

He nodded almost unperceivable with a silent breath of affirmation that Dean had to strain hard to hear.

"Promise?"

"Okay." Sam did look at him than, and offer him a smile of genuine apology that made him look young.

"I know it's frustrating." Dean offered, knowing that he really didn't. Couldn't comprehend living with the discrepancy he knew Sam had between the stamina of his body and his mind. But as though granted some kind of permission he could see Sam seem to visibly wilt as he gave up the strain of his external mask.

"Three months and you've been honest with me about how you were feeling. Why the sudden change?"

A shrug. He'd though he didn't want to disappoint, but deep down he knew Dean would never have felt it. That the only disappointment he was trying to avoid was his own. Frustrated that Dean had been the one to get hurt and yet it was Sam they were still both focusing on. That again it was the fact he was concealing how he was feeling that was the cause of his brother's concern. And he knew that Dean didn't just want to know, but he needed to know too. Needed to know their joint level of capability when planning and improvising on the job.

"So?"

"Too much walking." Sam admitted, "I'm really achy that's all. I'll be okay."

Dean nodded unconvinced, reaching over to rest the back of his hand on his brother's forehead, noticing the way he was cradling his head as he lent into the table.

"Microfiche" Sam explained, not shying away from the touch. "They always give me a headache, you know that." Dean nodded relaxing. "Your turn."

Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise but Sam was staring at him determinedly so he gave in with a sigh. "I'm fine… I promise." He pre-empted. "That woman just over reacted a little bit, but it wasn't that bad. You rang pretty much just as it happened. Don't get me wrong, it hurt like a bitch, but I was only out for the time it took you to get there. But I'll see your achy and raise you bruised all over." He added with a grin that Sam didn't echo. "There's absolutely nothing you could have done if you'd been there." Dean told him, correctly interpreting Sam's silence. "Nothing except maybe get smacked around by groceries yourself. So it that's what this is about…"

"Maybe… I don't know. It's just… I've been reading various accounts of people getting the crap kicked out of them all day. I think I'm just a little bit antsy." He admitted. He was close to admitting that the stress and exhaustion of that had caused him to hallucinate an appearance by Kane, but there was nothing Dean could do about that. Except maybe ban his access to sensitive material for a while, and that was what he did.

Dean wasn't lying. He wouldn't have forced Sam to open up only to conceal the extent of his own pain. It had been a bit of a shock but he really was feeling okay now, physically at least. But the motel room was suddenly too claustrophobic, what they were doing here was suddenly too real, and despite his determination, or perhaps even because of it, Sam still had a path to tread before their routine was back to normal. Before the normal pace of their lives returned. He didn't care about that, he wasn't sure if he even wanted that madness back again, although it would be comforting to know Sam could handle it when it finally found them again. But suddenly the reality was too much. Being under Sam's gaze was too much. Again being a reason for him to worry. To feel the need to downplay his own exhaustion.

"Sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I think I just need some air. Unwind for a bit."

"Want some company?" the offer was genuine although Dean knew he would really rather not have to move.

"No, I'll be fine. Get some rest. You'll need it if we're gonna be digging multiple graves tomorrow night."

Sam nodded with a groan. He hadn't even thought of that. "We've got another day. We might be able to narrow it down. Pick a spook." He offered hopefully without a trace of belief.

"I thought you wanted _air_." Sam said pointedly but with a smile as Dean picked up the car keys from by his bed.

"Car's got windows doesn't she?" Sam just shook his head at their differing definitions, but he couldn't hide his concern.

"No concussion, my head's fine." Dean assured him, knowing what he was thinking. "Paramedics cleared me themselves, you were there."

"Okay." He knew it was pointless to argue.

Sam had driven them back to the motel and parked as close to the door as he could, wanting to limit Dean's walking time. When he'd returned with food he'd obviously left it in the same spot. It was only as he was climbing into it that Dean remembered he had been trying to keep the car in the back lot out of sight of the road. He'd return it there when he got back. But then, he'd been driving around quiet stretches of town all day, kept her parked in plain sight, and nothing had come of it. He'd checked in discretely at the reception desk while Sam had been fetching dinner. Their mysterious tracker had not returned, and he had not felt obviously watched today. Even moments before the storm had kicked off in the store he had not felt observed. Was it possible their pursuer really hadn't known for definite they were in the area? They'd been heading west, that much was common knowledge, and this was the first even possibly suspicious occurrence they had encountered. Maybe this guy had merely stopped on the off chance they had, and when he had failed to find them, it was possible he'd already moved on.

Knowing what was at stake, could he really afford to believe that?

They'd be moving on again before long, and Sam was locked in and armed and had already proved he was more than capable of meeting a challenge when he felt threatened. And without the car in plain sight giving away their location, he was probably safer than Dean was right now.

He had missed the amount of time he usually spent in the car, and while at Bobby's had often felt the need to resort to this particular form of escape. Sam had the world of his books and his dog, Dean had the scrap yard and the Impala. He had always found something calming in the rumble of the engine, the vibration around him as it ate up the miles. It was the closest thing to a home he had known, so it was no surprise that it was his most effective method for relaxing.

He headed out of town where he could lose himself in the dark and the empty roads, but before long his claustrophobia had cleared and he realised he really did want to stretch his legs. He'd stayed in the motel with Sam all evening and hadn't had the chance to try and work off his bruises. He had circled around during his drive and was now approaching town from the opposite side. He could see the lights and bustle of the motor show in the background, and remembered again what Sam had told him. Today was the last night. He could lose himself in the crowd and the noise, not have to think about the job or the blow to the head or Sam's worried eyes. Maybe find himself the right crowd, find a game and take back some money. Sam wouldn't mind. He would no doubt have assumed this was where he would end up. There was a time when he would have waited up anxiously for Dean to return if he was out with no obvious explanation, but that was behind them now. Sam trusted him, and he doubted his brother was even still awake.

He wandered the now familiar displays torn between feeling guilty about being out without Sam, and reassured by the knowledge that he had wanted Dean to have the chance to be here and enjoy himself without being encumbered by a little brother. And he wouldn't stay long.

He wondered idly if that Heather girl was still around and her offer still stood, but unless she was wearing the same pink bra he doubted he would be able to find her again without Sam there to point her out. Now if he'd been able to tell Dean what kind of bike she'd been straddling at the time… he knew there was a reason he'd spent the last three months trying to educate him.

000000000000000000

Okay so he'd been out longer than he'd thought. He never had been able to find Heather, but Annabel had been willing to make up for that. She'd introduced him to some friends, they'd played some cards in the back of a pickup that had been used to transport promotional material, he'd been hailed as a hero after being recognised as chrome polish guys brave rescuer, plied with drinks, and sent off on his merry way with Annabel's number and a promise to meet up if he ever made it back to the event next year. She'd been cute, he was tempted to find some excuse to. Who knew, if they were really lucky this event might fall on Sam's birthday next year. That would be a treat for him.

It was getting late and he was heading across the field back to where he'd left the Impala, on the outskirts of where the madness began. The crowd had thinned out by now, so it didn't take Dean too long to work out he was being followed. Whoever it was, they weren't exactly being subtle about it. He doubted it would have taken either the most oblivious or inebriated of individuals by surprise, and Dean was neither of these things.

He was just wondering whether to remain where there were still a few people milling about to avoid too much of a scene, or move further into the shadows where he could beat out an explanation unmolested, when his stalker made the decision for him.

"Not leaving so soon are we?"

Wait. He recognised that voice.

Dean turned with a sigh, relaxing slightly. He'd been on edge, his thoughts instantly returning to their mystery tracker, but this guy wasn't a threat. If anything he was a little dense, and coming after Dean only highlighted that fact.

"What can I say? I have places to be. Why don't you head on back to the party?" Dean told the other man. He'd been willing to hang out with the guy as part of a group but he hadn't really counted on being followed home. What kind of signals had he been giving off? He hoped the school principal hadn't been talking.

"Aww come on. The night's still young."

For the life of him Dean couldn't remember this guy's name. He wasn't sure if they'd even been officially introduced, but he'd been there during the card game and Dean had enjoyed that because he had much too expressive a face to play effectively. Which was strange. Because Dean was having trouble reading his intentions right now.

"I'm tired and it's late. What do you want?" it was true, and this moron had set him on edge again, so all he wanted to do was head back to his room and reassure himself he had not done the wrong thing by leaving Sam alone for so long.

"It's not a matter of want."

"Then…"

"You owe me."

_That _was what this was about? He was such a sore loser he'd come scampering after Dean to a more secluded neck of the woods to demand his money back. This guy was an accident waiting to happen, and Dean would have trouble sympathising when it did.

"Look. I'm sorry for your loss, but I won that money fair and square, so…"

"I'm not sure if Sam would have agreed with that fact."

"Yeah well, he isn't… What?" Dean's insides were like ice. He fought hard to stop the sudden jolt of fear from expressing itself on his face. This guy didn't look quite so bumbling now; he held more of an aura of calm control than Dean did. But Dean had his reasons. Number one was the fact he knew for sure he had _never_ mentioned Sam's name all night.

"But then, he always did have a heightened sense of morality compared to you." He continued as though Dean had not spoken.

Dean was instantly aware of two things at once. Just how long Sam had been out of his sight compared to how little time this guy had been around, and, more horrifyingly, the past tense in his words.

If it would get this guy to back off, to tell him what he knew, then Dean would happily give him all the money he had. He hated that this realisation was true but his heart was pounding too painfully and he was feeling slightly dizzy with it, and he was somehow not sure if settling this with his fists was even an option.

"I don't want your money." The other man told him, as though sensing his train of thought.

"Then what do you want?"

"Nothing that isn't already rightfully mine. We had a deal."

"What? I've never even met you before tonight."

"That's not strictly true. And what makes you think my deal was with you?" At that cold arrogant smirk Dean felt something inside him die. The vestiges of a memory were just slightly out of his reach. He was taken over by images of Sam and blood and darkness. A fear that threatened to drown him.

"What do you want?" he asked again, much more firmly than he felt, voice not betraying the turmoil of emotions and images inside his head. The answer didn't matter, but he might be able to make sense of the situation if he had it. Because whatever this guy wanted, there was _no way_ he was getting his hands on it.

"What's owed me. Of course… I'm always willing to negotiate an alternative price. What would you be willing to offer me?"

"I exchange for?"

"I exchange for nothing. That part of the deal has already been done. This is purely payment."

"For...?" For the life of him Dean couldn't work out what this man was talking about. But even as he thought this he realised it wasn't strictly true. He just prayed that he didn't, because the lurking suspicion in the back of his mind did not bare thinking about. Fled before he could touch it, an involuntary defence mechanism of a mind screaming for self preservation.

"I can't say I'm not intrigued. What would you be prepared to give me? Will you make a more generous offer than your brother?"

"That depends"

"On?" he smirked it rather than said it.

"What deal did he make?" he had to whisper to get the words out, his throat was too constricted. His heart was lodged somewhere in the way. There was a rushing, ringing sound in his ears and he struggled to push it aside because no words he could hear would ever be more important.

"That's between me and Sam."

"But how will I know if I've bettered his offer if I don't know what it is?" fighting so hard to cling on to that increasingly elusive logic.

"You don't. But this isn't about Sam. This is about what _you_ would be willing to give up. What does your brother meant to you?"

"How dare…"

"As much as you mean to him? What do you think he would have been willing to give up to get you back?"

"Back from where?" How long had Sam had this deal hanging over him? Not everything had an instant payback. How long could he hide something like this? Surely Sam knew better than to make deals with a demon, no matter the prize.

But then… once upon a time he would have said the same thing about his father too.

"Oh God…" Why did they do this? Why did everybody he loved do this? Did they think this was what he wanted? How could Sam, knowing what their father's death had put him through, knowingly go and do exactly the same thing? How did he honestly expect that Dean would be able to live with himself knowing that he had done that?

To say they'd dedicated their lives to hunting down and killing a demon, the Winchester men weren't half keen on entering into deals with them. And it was Dean that was left to deal with the consequences of their actions.

But the figure in front of him… it didn't look like a demon. There was no tell tale glow in its eyes and it was being all too cryptic for Dean's liking. If a demon wanted something, Dean was sure it would just tell him what it was. Despite his words this had nothing to do with business for the other figure. The malice, the arrogant amusement in his voice told Dean that. He was enjoying it far too much for it to be business.

"That's a sore spot I see." The figure nodded with a knowing smile. "Usually so collected. So under control. That's one of the few things that makes all the walls, all the stupid fake bravado come crumbling down isn't it. Sammy. The thought of what I'm going to go to him when I find him. And you know I'll find him. You can feel it. I can feel that you feel it. It's coming off you in waves. Powerful, raw emotion. You're better than a drug. It will be quicker for you than it will for him. Much quicker. Does that help you with the decision any?"

Before the words had fully left his mouth, before he was even aware himself that he was going to do it Dean was moving, charging through a sea of red, of blinding hate, aware of nothing but the certainty that if he didn't do something, didn't pound the life out of this man right now with his bare hands, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

He might not have been expecting to make the move, but his opponent anticipated it none the less, side stepping it so efficiently that before he even had the time to work out what was happening Dean was on his knees with his hands pinned behind his back and his face pressed deep into the grass beneath him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" the voice sneered, breath warm and taunting on the back of his neck, a mockery of the warm spring breeze he had been enjoying only minutes before. But it was with those words, that tone and that voice, that the creeping memories and dread all came crashing into place.

"Kane! But you're…"

"Oh, I'm not dead. But I am growing impatient. Now tell me, do we have a deal or not?"

"What deal?" Dean cried, wincing at the pressure Kane was exerting on the arm pulled up behind him, at the pressure building up in his heart, in his head. What had Sam done? What had he been thinking? How could he have ever thought Dean would want this? Was worth this? Would in any way survive if Kane carried out his plans?

As Kane spoke he released him, thrust him away and down into the earth where he belonged, and he tried to sink into it, to offer himself up to it, because if John Winchester had just let the earth take him then none of this would be happening. Sam would never have had to make the stupidest, most pointless promise of his whole life.

"There is only one deal. There has only ever been one deal, and it still stands. Either Sam gives me what I want, or I take back what I offered him."

"What did Sam..?"

"That's not your concern." Kane boomed. He was impatient. And he was starting to grow angry. He'd been waiting for this for three months and now he was so close he could almost taste it. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to have a little fun first.

"Shhhh" he cooed, crouching down, placing a cool hand on Dean's cheek, enjoying the way he flinched from the touch, from the parody of comfort. "This isn't your fault. You didn't ask for this. It doesn't have to be your problem. All you have to do is tell me where he is, and then it will be over. I'll be gone. I'll take him off your hands. No burden. No obligations. Just you. The life that _you_ want. That you deserve. There would be no shame in it. It's what he wanted. He would never have agreed to it if it wasn't what he wanted…" he broke off with a chuckle, drawing himself up to his full height again, and Dean stood too. His legs were debating whether or not they wanted to hold him, but he _would not_ kneel at this man's feet. He was a _man_. Dean had seen and done too much to be conquered by a _man_.

"I can see that approach isn't going to work with you. Can't blame a guy for trying. I'd have had fun with the latent guilt. Oh well. This is how it's going to work." and with that his tone was all business. Curt, clipped and in control. It was little wonder this man had acquired the reputation he had. "This is the last night of this tedious festival. This time tomorrow this field will be a blank slate. No people in sight. Come midnight, one of you will be here. You can decide between yourselves which. I either get what's mine, or I have what was returned to me. You tell that brother of yours he either pays up, or I drain you dry.

"Now, I don't like to be kept waiting. One minute after midnight and the deals off. I will accept no substitutes, and I _will_ claim what he promised me.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. A lot can happen in the space of 24 hours. And a hell of a lot of distance can be covered. But I can spare you the gas money. There is nowhere you can go that I won't find you. Haven't I already proved that well enough? Sam perhaps. He's an elusive creature, but you Dean Winchester… You I can feel from a thousand miles away. Those fears, that burden you carry. It calls out to me. I held that in my hands once. I owned it, and I will never, ever, forget it. Will never not be able to locate it. You see, every human being vibrates with a frequency that is all their own. Just ask Sam. He'll tell you. He felt it for himself. And I have a lock on you now. Anywhere you go. At any time. I will know about it. Down to a three mile radius. All you have to do is stand still, and not even you can keep moving forever. So if you're gonna run, to keep your brother safe, I'd do it without Sam. If he lets you. If you can do that. If you can leave him to face that darkness alone."

Dean just stared at him wordlessly. His mind had been stripped of all words and arguments. Sam might have made the deal but it was Dean that was the only thing allowing him to fulfil it. The thing that had brought Kane back to their door.

"I'm going to leave first. And you are going to watch me walk away. I won't follow you, although it would make my life so much easier if I did. I will allow you to go back to your brother without endangering him. I will allow you 24 hours together. And then I _will_ see one of you here this time tomorrow. Or you _will_ both come to regret it.

"And don't even think about attacking me while my back is turned." He continued, even as Dean's fists clenched at his sides. "There is nothing you can throw that will hit me. You must have figured that out by now. But I know you want to try. I understand. I do. I appreciate the burning wave of impotence you must be feeling, so let me help you deal with that. If you make any action I perceive to be a threat. If you so much as move before I am off this field, you will die. But if that's not enough incentive for you, then so will Sam. Because when you fail to make it back he will tear this town apart looking for you, and he will not do it quietly. And I _will_ find him. And I promise when I do you'll wish I hadn't. More so than you would anyway. He will die screaming, and cursing your name. You might not have seen my operation for yourself, but I think you're quite aware of what I'm capable off. What you might not be aware of is the pleasure I will take in it.

"I'm not a cruel man. I do business. I deal in honest trades. Your brother is the dishonourable one in this situation. He is the one that negated on his side of the bargain. And I have a reputation to maintain. Thanks to him, I have to work hard now to re -secure my position. And Sam is going to help me do that, one way or another. When I am finished with him, when it becomes known what I did, the agonies he endured, the depravity and the violation, all because you threatened me. Tried to back out of a promise when I so graciously offered you a second chance to deliver… I can guarantee you no-one will ever think of double crossing me again. I can make your brother's name live forever. He will become legend. On second thoughts, I'll let you live so you can know what you did to him."

Kane backed away with a smile Dean would never be free off.

"Sit down before you fall down. I'm feeling twitchy. You move that quick and I just might misinterpret the action."

It was the last thing Dean wanted but he knew that Kane was right, and in the end he was given no choice in the matter. His legs simply wouldn't hold him. The fog in his mind was too thick, his throat too constricted, lungs too deprived of oxygen for him to be able to do _anything_ other than fall to the ground. Multiple realities overlapped in his vision. He didn't just see and hear Kane laughing at him, waving jauntily before turning to walk away. He also saw clearly the outcome of his words. The hell he would make Sam suffer. And the memories he had been fighting, the ones being in such close proximity to Kane induced. They hit him then with a power he had not been anticipating. He had not felt them the last time and been conscious, and he wondered briefly if that was even possible. If his brain could even hold that much. But he was still aware of the cold earth beneath him, the grass and dirt fisted in his fingers, the mocking warm breeze and he tried to hold on to that. To allow it to pull him back from the brink he strayed over. The cold dark drop into blissful nothingness.

They had 24 hours, but Dean knew that even that was an illusion. The time was exactly what Kane had said it would be. A long goodbye. There was nowhere they could go where Kane would not follow them. And if he tried, it would only make whatever fate lay in store for them worse.

Kane had long passed beyond his sight but still he couldn't move. Couldn't bring himself to climb to his feet and put their deal in motion.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

Warning: Some language. Because Dean's a little annoyed. Not much happens in this chapter to forward the story; it's more of a reaction to Kane's revelations. Sorry. This story really is tilted heavily to favour internal musing over action.

A big thanks to everyone whose been reviewing. I would have responded to more of you individually but I wasn't sure if you'd get them anyway, so please accept this as a collective show of appreciation.

**Chapter Six**

Dean remained where he was sat for a long time fighting off the numbness inside him. The breeze had started to chill and his section of the field was deserted by the time he could put together the energy he needed to carry him to his feet.

He had no memory of making it back to the Impala, but the next thing he knew he was sitting in it, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight they lost all feeling.

He had no idea how much time passed before he remembered to turn on the engine.

He drove around in a daze, but he couldn't recapture the feeling of calm that homely rumble usually evoked. He couldn't even remember calm. Wasn't sure if he would recognise it anymore if he felt it.

If there was one thing life had taught him it was that it didn't pay to dwell on the 'what ifs' that were dealt you. Things happened; you had to deal with them and move forwards, or the 'what ifs' could freeze you. But now they were all he could think about.

What if they had left Bobby's one day later? Would being there, on familiar ground with the additional backup, have made any difference at all? Or would Kane have merely snatched Sam during one of the rare moments when their backs were turned, leaving them with no clue what had befallen him.

What if they had never found this job? Never stood still for long enough for Kane to hone in on their location. What if this stupid festival had not been here and they could just have done their thing unnoticed and moved on? But Kane was right. They could not keep moving forever. Sooner or later they would have found a job that involved them setting up a base for more than 24 hours. And whenever, wherever that happened, Kane would be there.

So what if he'd pushed? What if he'd forced Sam to open up? To tell him what was going on. Why the thought of Kane worried him beyond the obvious face of it. Bobby had pointed the issue out to him, and it was his job to follow up on it. It was his job to make sure Sam was safe, and he had never stopped and _made_ Sam talk, questioned why he might not feel it. He'd asked, but it was half hearted at best because he hadn't wanted to discuss the merchant either, and Sam had been so tired and so trusting and so _deceptively honest_ that the questioning had ceased. And maybe Dean hadn't taken the issue to seriously either. Had the arrogance to believe there wasn't anything he couldn't protect Sam from when the time came. Because Kane was a _human_ threat.

And then they'd believed Kane dead, and Sam's residual fear had been just that. The memory of a problem he couldn't shake, but which could no longer hurt him, while dragging up those fears and forcing them out into the open could.

But the biggest 'what if' of all… What if Sam had never made that deal? Never offered his own life in exchange for Dean's. He would be dead now, but Sam would be safe. Would not have this looming over him.

Of course if he'd listened to Sam in the first place and not touched that damn cloth then neither of them would have to die. But that had been instinct. That had been acting on emotion. That hadn't been a deliberate, conscious, choice.

Sam had made a choice, and it was not his to make. Not his place to decide that. To take away Dean's control over his own fate. Of course he didn't want to die, but if it came down to letting things run their course or offering Sam in exchange then there really was no alternative.

The road in front of him had become clearer, and his grip on the steering wheel, his presence in the car more solid. The fear was gone. The gut wrenching horror of Kane's words, his threats, they no longer had power over him. It was a surprise even to himself to realise it, but Dean Winchester's overriding emotion at that moment in time, was anger. And only a small portion of it was directed at Kane. A little went to himself. His father got a large share for saving his life in the first place, for setting this whole stupid precedence, but of all their father's traits to decide to follow…

No, the main focus of Dean's anger, the centre of that vortex of rage, which grounded him because it pushed the more unfamiliar, debilitating emotions aside... that was all Sam.

It didn't matter what motives he might have had. The emotions behind the decision, if anything, only made the action all the more horrifying. If this was what their love would do for him, then he didn't want it. He didn't deserve it. Almost every action in Dean's life had been designed in some way to keep his brother safe, to make him happy, and this was the shitty way Sam repaid him. By throwing all that back in his face. By sweeping it all away to nothing in one dramatic grand gesture. One that could never be topped, like some macho pissing contest.

Kane had forced him to relive his worst fears and memories, dragging them out over an agonising seven hours, but Sam… What Sam had in store for Dean was so much worse. Sam would make him relive it for the rest of his life. Sam would have Dean go on knowing he was the reason the little boy inside him was dead.

He pulled into the motel parking lot and threw on the handbrake with so much force the car whined in protest but he didn't care. He'd been agonising with this decision all day; whether to tell Sam that someone was here or to leave him to his innocence. It had pained him to keep his silence, because he'd forgotten that Sam was no angel. He had those eyes and that pout and the ability to melt Dean's heart with a glance, and the bastard knew exactly how to use that. To let him believe there were no more secrets. On more than one occasion in the last few months he had even got Dean to open up, to meet Sam in his vulnerability, and the whole time… The whole three months of bonding, of growing together, of wanting to share and ease each other's fears… All of that peace and stability had been a lie. Its foundation was this wall of pain and deceit hidden behind a mask of truthfulness, of lopsided smiles and quiet apologies and heartbreaking need. And Dean had given. And this was what Sam had given in return. The promise of one more nightmare. One he would never wake up from. The certainty that this time he would have failed, and he would be really and truly alone.

The motel door took the brunt of his rage, the powerful extent of his betrayal, crashing into the wall with enough force to make the windows shake. And when he closed it again it was only with slightly less strength. He flicked on the lights, flinching himself at the sudden brightness, and rounded screaming on the previously sleeping form on the bed.

"What the hell did you do? What were you thinking? Did you think I wouldn't find out? That…"

Sam was struggling valiantly for awareness, couldn't even see where the attack was coming from, couldn't focus on anything at all in the sudden blinding light. But when those frightened, straining eyes connected with his, if only for a moment before squinting shut again, they killed Dean's words instantly in his throat. So effectively that he gagged on them. Actually retched. Had to struggle hard not to physically expel the horror and anger inside him.

Sam had managed to drag himself into a sitting position by now, wincing all the while at the effort on his tired and confused muscles, hindered by the necessity of keeping one hand shielding his face from the still intrusive glare.

"W…a" he slurred, and Dean was only thankful that he made it to his own bed in time before his knees gave out beneath him. All the anger had drained out of him at the sight of his brother's sleep filled but concerned face, and the void it left made him empty and weak. But instead of a return to rage again it was fear that was pulled into the vacuum inside him. He was so tired, and young, and the centre of Dean's world. And Dean really and truly did risk losing him. Would have lost him without ever knowing why if Kane had only found Sam first.

"What's happened?" Sam had swung his legs out of bed and was sitting up to face him, but had to lean heavily against one hand propped against the bed to support himself, still not fully awake enough to remain vertical unaided. And Dean knew he only had to say the word and Sam would have been up on legs that would probably have supported him about as well as Dean's own, that the last vestige of lethargy and sleepiness would be thrown aside in an instant if he was needed.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to speak but only a strangled vowel sound came out. He didn't know what he'd intended it to actually be. Would have quite liked to have heard it himself just to know, in the hope that maybe some part of his brain was functioning independently and accurately enough to work out his next move.

"Dean?" The uncertainty and concern in that voice was like a knife blow. Piercing and bloody and straight to the heart. He looked into those eyes, really looked, and saw only truth. He wished to go there was a lie in them. That the promise and love and trust they could always convey was not real. Was just another illusion. Stupid deceitful games. He needed no words from Sam to answer his string of rash and angry questions. The look of his face, the soft questioning murmur of his name, the slight twitch in his fingers, wondering if it was okay or required to establish some kind of contact, that maybe the answer could be physically acquired. They were all the response he needed. They told him exactly what Sam had been thinking. Exactly how he could have been stupid enough to have done this.

And he knew with a certainty that if faced with the same choice, he would have done the same thing.

"What did I do?" Quiet and already remorseful. If Dean had held onto his anger he would have been met by it, by the defensive bratty little brother it would have been so easy to keep the moral high ground over. But Sam could tell that whatever he'd done, Dean was obviously incredibly upset about it, and already he was sorry.

And Dean _was_ faced with the same choice. He faced it right now. Kane had offered it to him less than an hour ago. And it was foolish to think he could have clapped eyes on Sam and made any other choice.

"You…ummm." There was no way he could tell Sam what he knew. No way he would keep Sam away from that field if he knew what the alternative was. The stubborn streak in him would probably go and seek Kane out rather than let Dean share his burden.

But there was still a slight bump in the paintwork were the door had slammed open. His heart rate was still yet to even come down from it. He had to give Sam something. What could he have done to get Dean so worked up? What was the last thing Sam had done that had annoyed him?

"You spilt orange juice all over my car." It was out of his mouth before it had reached the screening process in his brain that would have discarded it as lame. But it was done now. "There's this massive sticky patch all over the door. I can't…"

"What!?" the concern had faded a little now and incredulity was taking its place. Dean really needed that. "That was, like, a week ago. You know that. You watched me do it. And if you could just pick a damn lane in the first place… Anyway, I washed that. You stood and made me. I though you were gonna get a whip out or something… what?"

"Yeah, well you did a really crappy job" Dean returned, standing suddenly, trying to put an end to this whole conversation before it got even more out of control.

"That can't seriously be what this is about."

"Yeah well it is."

"No. Why..? Dean, talk to me."

_Don't push. Don't push. Oh God. You're willing to die for me but you won't shut the hell up when I ask you to_. Dean had his face turned away from those pleading eyes, was making for the security of the bathroom where he could lock the door and pretend he didn't hear Sam pounding on it for the rest of the night. But Sam never made things that easy. Tentative fingers gripped his bicep and attempted to swing him around.

"Talk to me. Please…"

"Talk to you! You want me to talk…" it was possibly the only thing Sam could have asked him to do that would have caused the anger to return. He would have melted in the face of any other plea. But talking…. "Coming from you… You've got to be kidding me."

Those eyes looked hurt. They didn't look guilty or remorseful, just confused that they were being shouted at. Dean knew Sam wasn't aware of the source of his anger, but he also knew in that moment that if he had been, the expression in his eyes would have been the same. The only addition would have been defiance. All the screaming and raging in the world were never going to make a difference. Dean was not going to be able to get him to regret the decision. It didn't matter that the reason he knew this was because he would have felt exactly the same way about it himself. If it ever came to that it was a path he was prepared to take. It was a path he was free to take. He watched out for Sam. It was a lesson that had been drummed into him throughout his lifetime. It was half of his father's last words to him – he did his best not to think of the other half. Not that it worked.

He had helped raise Sam. Protected him. Guided him. Taught him. How was it that he had never thought to teach him that one fundamental fact? Failed on such a spectacular level that Sam believed it was his place to die for him. Not watching his back in the heat of battle die for him, but silent and underhand and consciously. Leaving no room for debate, no space for Dean to try and fix it. To talk him out of it. To even know it had taken place.

And if Sam couldn't see that there was a problem there then there was something very very wrong with him. His actions may have been for Dean, about Dean, but he had not once stopped to actually consider Dean. To consider what his actions would leave behind. How badly it would hurt him. That he wouldn't save Dean at all, only leave him broken.

How could he _not_ know that? How could he have messed up so completely that Sam would fail to realise he was killing them both?

God he wanted to make him see that. Wanted to reach out and shake him, to wake him up to that realisation, rattle the relevant part of his brain loose from where it had obviously gotten tangled and let it slot back into place. Wanted to hurt him just a fraction of the amount he was hurting himself. Maybe then it would stick.

It was only when the remaining rational part of his brain was processing the fact that hurting Sam was not the most practical of solutions, although it might have made him rethink the whole willing to die for him thing, that Dean realised he actually _was_ shaking him. Had swatted that concerned hand away and was gripping Sam's arms with his own, far less gentle fingers.

Sam was taken by as much surprise as he was, and it was his startled yelp of pain that caused Dean to release him. Pushing Sam as far from him as he could manage, as though that would somehow distance himself from the action, those wide terrified eyes he had sworn he would never again see let alone be the cause of.

If Dean hadn't been making for the bathroom than Sam would have landed safely on his uncomfortable bed, but he was slightly too far away now for that. Instead he landed more off it than on it. With no time to change his own trajectory, or save himself from the fall, Sam's hip connected with the metal frame of the bed before he slid gracelessly to the floor with a grunt of pained surprise.

Sam was too shocked to spring to his feet and fight back. Dean actually took one step forwards, partially extended a hand to help his brother back to his feet, but something in Sam's eyes held him back. He knew with a fierce certainty that if his hand was offered then Sam would swipe it away. The look of increasing mistrust in his eyes said he might even back away from it and Dean could not deal with that on top of everything else. That Sam would shy away from his touch was like a punch, so instead he turned on his heels and finally reached the refuge of the bathroom, firmly closing the door shut on Sam's startled face, still watching him from his spot on the floor. Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he would still be there when Dean eventually decided to exit his sanctuary, staring fixedly at the closed door as though the sheer weight of his gaze could get it to open up to him. To make the nights turn of events make sense.

It was almost a full ten minutes before there was a tentative knocking on the bathroom door and his brother's voice called out through the gap, still horse with sleep and perhaps even something more. Dean had been waiting for it, sat stock still on the side of the bath anticipating Sam's next move, but it still took him by surprise, caused him to jump, to realise just how tense his muscles had been.

"Dean. You okay?"

'_What the hell are you playing at jerk'_ Dean would perhaps have been able to answer. Because right now he had absolutely no idea how to respond to _that_ particular question. But he also knew that if Sam had spazzed out on _him_ quite so spectacularly, all the 'I'm fine go back to sleep's in the world would not have made him give up his vigil at the door. Although to be fair he would have been pounding on it with a little more violence by now. And he probably wouldn't have stopped with the door.

"I'm fine Sam, go back to sleep."

"Back to sleep! You're kidding, right?"

"No. Get some rest." _Please_.

"You're the one that woke me up."

"I've had a little too much to drink. It's fine now."

"No. You haven't." He'd been stone cold sober when he'd last looked his brother in the eye and Sam knew it.

"I Just…" a sigh he knew that Sam could probably hear, and he found himself standing at the doorway but making no move to open it. He could feel Sam's presence on the other side of the partition. Laying his palm flat on the wood in the spot he imagined his brother's to be.

He would die for Sam without question. There was probably nothing Kane could have asked of him that he would have refused. And yes, he knew Sam would be pissed at that choice but he didn't care. Maybe he'd trained his brother a little _too_ well.

"Sam." There was a shuffling on the other side but no verbal response, but somehow the knowledge that Sam _was_ leaning against the door allowed some of his comfort to seep through the wood. "I'm sorry." Sorry that I put you in that position. That you felt it was your only choice. That I never took the time to ask you what exactly had happened at the cabin. Why it was the thought of Kane always froze you. Why you were so convinced he would follow you if he was still alive. That I could _ever_ lay a finger on you without warning. While you were still not fully awake enough to defend yourself.

He shut his eyes against the image of Sam's hurt face, against all the images proximity to Kane caused him. Sam wasn't responding.

"You okay?" So inadequate.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"I think I've had worse."

_Don't remind me._

"What's going on?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Dean…"

"It's okay Sam. Can you just… I just need a minute, okay."

"What..?"

"Please Sam. Can you... I'm just feeling a bit… I don't know. But everything's okay, I promise. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Whatever's going on you can tell me."

_I really can't._

"I know. But it's nothing. Let me figure it out for myself first, okay?" The old Sam standby.

"You sure?" reluctant, but an acknowledgement that Dean had done the same for him in the past, when it had been clear that strapping Sam down and forcing him to spill had been his first instinct.

"Yeah. Go back to bed."

A pause and more shuffling. "Well, are you coming out of there?"

"Soon."

It was the truth. He really did need some time to figure out what he was going to do. And he knew from experience that while he may have granted himself some leeway, Sam would require an explanation soon. And Dean had to be able to give him one. One that would suit his odd behaviour but ensure that for not even a second did Sam consider fulfilling whatever promise he'd made.

Neither of them moved for a long time, and Dean was both sorry and grateful for the door between them, although he could picture Sam's musing pensive face clearly enough without its presence before him. But eventually he heard Sam sigh and shuffle away and the sound of him returning to bed. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that Dean would emerge while he was still standing there. Dean knew that Sam would not have considered closing his eyes, would still be staring at the door in concern, but the physical distance had expanded and Dean felt more able to breath. More able to think that maybe there was a way out of this.

He knew that chance of him finding that way would increase if he had Sam working on it too. Sam had had three months to think about it. The fact that he'd had Bobby pack them up and leave so quickly indicated that he had never really had any intention of fulfilling his vow unless strictly necessary. It was entirely possible he already had a contingency plan in place.

But then he remembered again the slight cloud of fear in Sam's eyes every time the merchant had been mentioned, and he knew that Sam had as little idea of how to proceed from here as he did. But as mad as Dean might have been, he knew that Sam had bought them time. Had given them the last three months, during which nether of them could have survived alone.

Finally Dean dragged himself away from his prop, splashed water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror; aware himself how much it seemed to have aged from the one he had seen in Bobby's mirror just a short time ago.

He knew that Sam would be waiting up for him to emerge, would be observing him closely when he did, but Dean also knew he would say nothing for now. He had bought himself at least 24 hours grace. Which was almost exactly how much time he needed.

He sighed and pushed open the door, trying hard not to melt under Sam's scrutiny, remembering with a sudden nostalgic fondness the extent that his anxiety that had caused him to flee from the room only short hours before.

TBC

I toyed with different ways for Dean to respond, I just hope you're not disappointed with the way it ended up. If he comes across as harsh I apologise, but it is a spur of the moment reaction and train of thought. He wasn't really thinking clearly enough at the beginning to see Sam's side of the story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: Same as before. Still not mine. Hence the breakdown in all logic.

Nina – thanks for the support. It's appreciated. No other way for me to let you know.

If there's anyone else I've missed I apologise. Same goes for you too.

Julia Newton – sorry, I really did want to reply to this but have no other way of doing it. Dean does know he'd being a hypocrite and he does come to appreciate Sam's silence in a way, because it becomes his own. I agree I really really wanted Sam to just come out and tell Dean because it's so hard to have him not do and retain any kind of moral high ground. Or to even be as sympathetic towards, and I love Sam and I don't want to make him look bad, but it turns out I am a sadist. I really want him the be honest, but hopefully you will come to appreciate why he's not being, at least not immediately, because it is much more effective for the rest of the story if Dean only knows fragments of the truth.

Please note: this is one of those fairly important details that only occurred to me later – Sam's version of events and Kane's _are_ completely different. He's not being dense; he genuinely doesn't understand what Dean was accusing him of.

This chapter has been an absolute nightmare to write and I despise it. I was tempted at one point to just post the three line summery of it that was in my plan because that made sense, but whenever I tried to expand on that the logic just collapsed.

**Chapter Seven**

Neither of them got a great deal of sleep during the remainder of the night. Dean's mind was constantly churning over the problem in front of them while Sam was aware of Dean's mind churning, and was no doubt trying to figure out what could have happened in the three hours they had been apart. How Dean's mood could have shifted so dramatically from a caring display to angry and darn right scary.

Dean was sure the truth would be the last thing that occurred to him. There was no reason for now to be the moment his brother's thoughts again turned to Kane. But the truth was what he would get. Many hours from now, when they were many, many miles from this place.

He hadn't ever believed the sentiment for a moment, but thankfully it turned out to be true. Everything did seem a lot clearer in the morning. There really was only one course of action open to them.

They would run.

Yes, there was every chance that would make Kane's wrath even worse, but he had said himself he could only pin them down to the nearest three miles. They would run, and they would damn well not stop moving until they had a plan in place for when they did. And when they were far enough away he would spill everything to Sam, and more importantly, get Sam to spill _everything_ to him. But only when they were far enough away. After he had set Kane's threat in motion. When there would be no sane point in Sam trying to be noble and spare Dean the same fate. Because if they ran and they were caught, Dean's punishment would be to live.

Kane had offered them a choice, and it was quite frankly unacceptable. If they were together and had time to regroup, time to work out a strategy, then they had a chance. They always had a chance. He would hand over neither of them without a fight, as futile as that fight might be.

But they would finish the job first. Sam would not let them skip out of here without seeing it through, and hopefully their delayed departure would take Kane by surprise too.

Dean couldn't know for sure whether Kane had been lying when he'd said he didn't know where they were staying. He was inclined to believe that Kane would have enjoyed just snatching Sam with no preamble, if only to be able to watch Dean's distress. But he also wouldn't be surprised if this entire set up was just an elaborate show. A game to see just what they would chose to do.

He had been careful despite his shock last night. He had watched Kane disappear into the night and he was fairly certain he had not been followed on his way back to the motel. But if Kane did know where they were and was keeping tabs on them, he would expect any attempt to flee to come early in the day. It would give them maximum running time before Kane's midnight deadline. He would not expect them to leave it until after nightfall, until after they had salted and burnt the spirit, for them to make their move. Dean knew it would be the last thing Sam expected either.

Sam was understandable wary around him that morning as they got ready, but short of asking if he was okay a couple more times than he would have normally, made no reference to Dean's bizarre late night attack. Dean could tell by his fidgeting that he was eager to discus it, but Dean had respected his wishes, often against his own inclinations, and allowed Sam his privacy while he'd been dealing with his own emotional fears. And okay, he had never out right attacked Dean without seeming to be consciously aware of the action, but he _had_ on occasion spontaneously bust into tears and demanded a hug, which in Winchester world was an even worse way of dealing with things.

So Sam was treating him as normally as possible, which would hopefully aid Dean's plans.

But Dean was finding it hard to treat his brother normally, and it had less to do with his fear over Kane's revelations and more with his guilt over the way Sam was slightly favouring his left leg. At the two stark purple handprints that showed below the sleeves of his t-shirt, glaringly obvious against his brothers pale skin. Sam tried his best not to let it show that he was upset about them too, and Dean had to look away and ignore the action as Sam rummaged around in his bag until he found a long sleeved shirt to cover them up.

Dean knew Sam felt guilty at having skipped his workout the day before. He also knew he was probably eager to have some time alone. He didn't seem to be acting as though worried Dean was going to randomly attack him again, but he no doubt wanted time to think. To plan his next move. Dean wanted to be able to allow him that, but quite frankly there was no way Sam was leaving this room alone.

Thankfully Sam chose to take Dean's decision to accompany him as a peace offering, although Dean got the impression it was a deliberate choice rather than a natural assumption. But they easily fell back into the rhythm of it, and after his day of semi-rest Sam was feeling a lot less stiff and sore than he had the morning before.

Dean had them run in the opposite direction to the route into town for its novelty value, among other reasons, and Sam felt like he had walked the other path so many times already he was not inclined to argue. He seemed once again to be eager to please, because it was clear from Dean's yelling of the night before that he had done something that had upset his brother, and if Dean wouldn't just tell him what it was and let him fix it that way, then he didn't know any other approach to take to let him know he was sorry.

There was a part of Dean that would have found it easier to deal with being guilt tripped or ignored than this calm understanding. It was too reminiscent of the way they had approached everything over the last few months for Dean to be comfortable with it. The worry that maybe Sam saw his own increasing independence as something that had somehow managed to piss Dean off, when it was no doubt the exact opposite. A full strength Sam would perhaps have been less likely to find himself in a position where bargaining with Kane was his only way out.

No, Sam's lack of hostility only guilted Dean more. Once upon a time he would have been a lot more argumentative. The fact that he wasn't being now only highlighted for Dean what had got them in this position in the first place. While Dean had been his supporting platform Sam had gone out of his way not to pick a fight with him. Dean knew that it was his gratitude over Dean's own hands off approach that was causing him to take a step back now. And that led them back down the road to why that approach had been necessary. When Sam had returned from his encounter with Kane he had barely had the strength to stand unsupported. Without making some kind of deal with Kane it was unlikely he would have been able to leave at all. Dean knew it must have been a last resort, but Sam's unconditional support now was just a reminder of what must have prompted him to agree in the first place. Because if it allowed him even the slimmest chance of getting Dean back alive…

Away from Kane in the light of day with Sam beside him and no alcohol in his system, Dean found it very hard to be angry about that fact.

He had thought last night when Kane had put those images into his head, while his blood was boiling with his perceived betrayal; he had though he would never feel calm again. But watching Sam pottering around their motel room hunting for socks, brushing his teeth, forgetting yet again that flopping extravagantly onto the bed was not a good idea, he knew he was looking at both the source of his greatest unease, but also his most powerful sedative. It had always been the case. They could be holed up in some dreary dead end motel while he tried frantically to hold down the worry as to why their father was yet to return, and Sam just had to ask one innocent question, huddle up next to him and show him the picture he had drawn and it was enough for Dean to know that there was still some light left in the world. That there was a source of it that was solely his own.

Sam emerged from the bathroom to find practically everything that had not been tied down had been packed away, and they bags sat expectantly in the middle of the room.

"Going somewhere?" he asked suspiciously, noting the way Dean's demeanour seemed to shift as he took in the emptying room, as though wondering whether Sam would have noticed.

A shrug. "Just though I'd give us a head start."

"For..?"

"Well… when we're found the grave and burnt the bones I thought we'd hit the road again. Get out of here."

"I'm sure we could have spared the ten minutes it would have taken to do that in the morning." Sam pointed out.

"We're not gonna be here in the morning."

"We're not?"

"No… I mean, we should take off as soon as the job's done."

"Why?"

"No reason. I just think…"

"We're gonna be covered in mud and soot and you think we should spend the night in the car? Dean, seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I just don't think we should hang around here tonight that's all."

"Oh God. Whose daughter did you sleep with?" He was only half joking. It had been known to happen before.

"What?!"

"Are we gonna have a whole mess of biker guys running us out of town as soon as the sun goes down?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?" Sam was smiling at him evilly now.

"I think I'd remember."

"Then what's the hurry?" He said it casually but Dean knew he meant it as anything but.

"I don't know. I'm getting cabin fever I guess. I just think it would be nice to get back on the move again that's all."

"The open road will still be there in the morning." Sam said dismissively. "And if your last grave digging escapade is anything to go by I think you're gonna be grateful for a bed. We both will." He threw in to gauge its effect.

"It's a small town. I don't think we want to hang around after we've started lighting fires. You know how they feel about new people here. And new and young…"

Sam threw him a curious glance. "Okay." He relented. "But only after the job's done." He added, as though that part was in question too.

Dean just nodded his head and turned away before he had to see Sam frown. If Dean was going to go back on his 'Sam must under no circumstances have to sleep in the car' rule, and to completely ignore the fact Sam had wanted to stay, then he must have a genuine reason for wanting to leave. Sam might not know what it was, but he could only trust that it would be valid.

They took the car into town, and as soon as he was settled Sam surreptitiously felt the seat beneath him, the door at his side, frowning at the lack of obvious sticky patches. There was a marked difference in the number of people and vehicle milling around today than there had been the rest of the time they'd been here. Principle Wilson's words could not have been more correct. It was like a completely different place. It was almost unnerving to see the streets so quiet when he was used to the bustle and noise, and Dean remembered once more how comforting it had been to have that background noise to hide behind.

Sam must have picked up on his thoughts because while Dean's eyes were darting, checking each side street they passed just in case, Sam's were doing the same. Dean didn't know if it was unnerving or comforting that Sam could read him so well. He didn't even know what he was looking for, but if Dean was being vigilant then Sam would too, eyes flicking between their surroundings and Dean with a worried, slightly pensive expression, as though more concerned about Dean than the think they were looking for. The fact that Dean was searching at all, not the motive behind it.

Dean paused on the threshold of the library blinking furiously, trying to get his eyes to adjust from glaring sunlight to the gloom.

"Tell me about it." Sam muttered, setting to work in the old records office searching for funeral listings to get an idea where their bodies were buried. Unfortunately the filing system did not appear to be as logical as date order. It wasn't in an alphabet Sam was familiar with either.

"Oh you're kidding. This is going to take hours." Dean complained, still blinking.

Eventually Sam pulled down a volume that included the funeral and burial details for May 1902. He carried it over to the nearest table and flicked through it, the dust given of by the pages almost making his eyes water too much to read.

"Okay, here we go. Alison McAlister, died 21st May 1902, funeral held on the 23rd. Well they rushed that through, given the circumstances… Body was cremated."

"Well that solves that then. Daddy it is."

"Ummm. He was cremated to. Sorry."

"What! Gimme that." Dean pulled the book towards him with enough force to produce a cloud of dust that got them both coughing, earning them a nasty glare from the woman at the counter across the room.

"Well?" Sam demanded with his eyebrows raised.

"Okay. Yeah. Both cremated. That complicates matters slightly."

"You think?"

"It could be the wife. Or the lover?"

"It doesn't really fit with the way people are dying though."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. This is gonna take a lot more digging. Maybe if we learn more about the family, see if we can tie them to the location of any of the deaths… we could…"

"Well how long's that gonna take?"

"I have no idea, but we have until the 21st before this thing starts getting lethal, that's over three weeks to…"

"Three weeks! No. We have until 9pm tonight to figure this out."

"9pm! What the hell happens at 9pm?"

"That's when we hit the road."

"What?! We can't just… hey!" Dean had stood up and was walking away from him, making his way out of the dark confined building, but whether he was trying to avoid the argument or move it to an arena where they could let loose without the elaborate shushing motions Sam couldn't say. And right now he didn't care. He'd put up with enough cryptic nonsense from Dean in the last few hours. If he wanted to leave when the job was done then fine, they'd leave. But they weren't just skipping out without a darn good reason. This thing might not be ready to kill yet, but it was still willing to do some damage in the meantime.

But again, Dean knew that. So if he was still willing to go, then something must really have him worried.

"Dean, tell me what the hell's going on."

"There's nothing…"

"How many times have we ever fled town in the middle of a job? We can't just leave! We won't. I'm not going anywhere unless you explain to me why I should."

"Sam…" Dean's anger was deflating and he was looking around them nervously again. "Please, just trust me. We can figure this out, and we will, just not here. Okay… I'm not going to let _anyone_ die. Just…"

"We've still got a whole day. Let's just see where that takes us. We might not need to make this decision at all."

"What do you suggest?"

"I still have some stuff back at the motel I never got a chance to look at. Some ideas I haven't finished working through. There are some books about the history of the town in general. There might be something we're missing." But he didn't sound convinced.

Dean sighed. They were going to be hanging around for most of the day anyway. They may as well keep occupied. "Okay. Go get anything else you think we'll need."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a feeling this is going to require large quantities of caffeine. I'll meet you back at the car, okay." He sounded so weary that Sam had to admit that coffee sounded like a good idea, and his throat was sore form all that dust. But he knew from experience that if Dean would just tell him what was troubling him, it would not be so exhausting a weight. Things had been more open between them lately than Sam could remember, certainly since long before he had ever contemplated leaving for collage. He didn't understand what could have happened in the space of a few hours to have changed that. He had known that Dean would have to struggle to get over his initial reluctance to allow Sam back on the job again, but he seemed to have got that under control. And that didn't explain why he was suddenly not confiding in Sam at all. He wanted to trust him – after everything Dean had done for him how could he not, but even when things had been confusing between them in the past Sam had always known the cause of that. Now all he knew was that he had done something to make Dean upset and he couldn't figure out what it was. He'd been in the library all day. He'd been feeling crappy but Dean had said that didn't bother him. He had been trying to conceal how tiring he was finding this case, that much was true, but surely _that_ hadn't got Dean so concerned that he was refusing to talk about it. Dean had initiated a conversation about that himself. Surely that wasn't why he was so reluctant for another?

Unless he'd sustained a worse blow to the head than he was letting on.

Dean knew Sam was right. He couldn't ask him to skip town and leave things unfinished without a reason. He had run once before and must have been aware there would be consequences. It was probably foolish to think Sam would just hand himself over now if there was any other option open to them. And it was clear from Sam's reaction and silence for the past three months that if Kane was here, Sam's instincts were to be somewhere else. They would get back to the motel and he would tell Sam everything. And if Sam bitched about the fact Dean had know about this for so long without saying anything, then he would just point out that Sam had known about it for even longer, and even now had absolutely no intention of bringing Dean into the loop. And he would stop being so mad about it because they both knew he would have done exactly the same thing.

He relented for once and bought Sam a poncy coffee without being asked, and added a bran muffin as a pre-emptive peace offering, and anything else he thought they might need to sustain them through an incredibly tedious day of searching books and websites with no real clue what they were looking for. Once they were ensconced back in their room he would not feel good about them moving again until it became necessary. Although a few random two man drink runs might throw Kane off their plans if he _was_ watching. They could leave their departure until late if they had to. As long as they were more then three miles away before Kane noticed their absence then they stood a chance. They would be on the move indefinitely, but they could deal with that. They'd been doing it for almost two weeks. That was why it had taken Kane so long to track them down to begin with.

He was starting to feel better for just having made the decision. Some of the constricting weight on his chest had lessened. He wasn't naïve enough to think that Sam would have all of the answers. That there was some magical solution to be found. That the next few days were going to be anything other than hell. But they had lived through hell quite a lot recently and it had always been less painful when they were communicating. When they were both in it together.

Sam was leaning against the side of the car as he approached cradling enough books that Dean inwardly cringed, and he had to fight off the instinctual desire to take them from him. To berate him for carrying too much. He was annoyed with himself. If possible he preferred it when it was easier to forget that Sam shouldn't be carrying a heavy load than to forget that he could.

Sam quickly stood upright guiltily when he saw Dean approach, although whether it was at the number of texts he'd managed to sweet-talk the librarian into letting him steal or the fact he'd been resting his buttoned back pocket against Dean's paintwork he couldn't tell. He doubted he was feeling guilty about what he should have been feeling guilty about anyway. Sam very rarely did. It always amazed Dean that with the extent of guilt Sam had floating around in his system every single day; he somehow always managed to miss the point. To focus solely on the parts he had no control over, when he so rarely took the time to consider all the annoying things he did consciously.

Sam threw the books on the back seat and climbed into the passenger side, relieving Dean of his purchases, investigating them with an appreciative noise while Dean started the engine. The car pulled away from the curb with a juddering lurch, tilted worryingly to one side, moving with a grating rhythm that could only mean one thing. He stopped the car and pulled the handbrake on so violently that Sam had to scramble to catch the shopping that had been sat on his knee, making a desperate lunge to catch the coffee before it upturned.

"Tell me you didn't" Dean rounded on him fuming, eyes brimming with suspicion, flashing back to the guilty glint in Sam's eyes.

"Don't worry I caught it. It only went over me this time." Sam assured him, wiping drips of coffee of his fingers onto his knee. "But seriously, if you're gonna keep doing that you have to expect the odd spillage. I mean, what's gotten into your driving recently?" He was smiling but his face fell at the look in Dean's eyes and he instinctively backed away, pressing himself up against the passenger door with the bag clutched between them as though suddenly remembering the incident of the night before. The one they had so far both avoided alluding to out loud when they both knew it had been in their thoughts constantly for the whole day.

If there was anything that should have been able to make Dean's anger melt it was the realisation that Sam was honestly not sure whether or not Dean intended to physically harm him. To say the past six months of their lives had been solely about ensuring Sam was comfortable and his health was on the mend they'd certainly come a long way, and not in a particularly positive direction.

He doubted Sam would ever have any idea how painful that realisation could be, but if Sam had actually done what he suspected he'd done… even if he hadn't… He would apologise later for his sudden ability to be menacing. Assuming they were both still alive then.

Dean climbed out of the car without another word and Sam followed nervously. He could hear Dean cursing as soon as his head was clear of the interior.

"What are you seven? What the hell were you thinking?" It was a strange mixture of rage, disappointment, betrayal and admiration that Sam didn't quite know what to do with. Maybe the answer would be clearer if he knew what Dean was talking about. What he was possibly being accused of this time. At least he had been awake when it had happened this time around, since Dean seemed to be only just discovering it himself. At leased Sam hoped he was. If this was Dean after he'd had time to calm down he'd be even more concerned.

Seen as Dean seemed incapable of expressing what was upsetting him Sam wandered around to the driver's side of the car to see what his brother was staring at.

"Damn." He agreed with his brother's assessment. Then part of the reason Dean was so mad suddenly occurred to him. "Wait! You think that I..?"

"Well didn't you?"

"Dean! Seriously!? Why would you think…?"

"Well you don't want to leave. You've made that more than clear. And then I leave you alone for two minutes and now we've mysteriously got a puncture. Wait. Make that two. I can't believe that you…"

"Yes you can. And you do, don't you?" Sam was breathing heavily now too, but it had more to do with a sudden sense of overwhelming panic he was feeling than anger. The world was no longer making sense. His one constant, the very thing that had kept him anchored; kept him functioning for so long now was suddenly drifting. He didn't want to have to consciously and heavily lean on Dean any longer, but the fact that maybe he couldn't if he needed to was terrifying. It was the only certainty in his life being denied and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about that fact.

"Just…" Dean breathed deeply, trying to reign in the fear that was making him lash out. "Just tell me you didn't do this."

"I shouldn't have to."

And he didn't. Dean knew his brother. He could be deceptive at times but he couldn't be mean. And he tended to spill his secrets before they endangered anybody else. If he could hold Dean's gaze with that look in his eyes, the same combination of surprise and hurt Dean had been trying so hard to erase from his brain all day, then he really didn't do this.

And if Sam didn't, then that left only one logical suspect.

Kane wanted to make sure they didn't run. He wanted to play, but he wanted the game to be brief. He wanted what he was owed, and he wanted it sooner rather than later. He was already over three months behind schedule.

Well this changed everything.

The need in Sam's eyes was unavoidable. He reached out slowly to give his brother's arm a gentle squeeze of apology. He maintained the contact for much longer than he'd planned; he physically didn't seem to be able to let go. It was a familiar need and the pain was deeply buried, but it was all too real. That instinct to connect, to keep hold of some physical link to his brother to avoid the fear that maybe he would slip away if he was a second out of his grasp.

They had come too far. Dean _would not_ lose him now. But they could no longer flee, and Kane would expect them to keep to his deadline. They were running out of options.

They could steal a car. They could leave right now. But Kane would be ready for that. He already seemed to be constantly one step ahead of them. To anticipate Dean's reactions before he had even considered them himself. To second guess him was exhausting. Dean was tired of it already.

Sam was staring at the hand gripping his arm. Dean was so lost in thought he had almost forgotten he had left it there, would not have needed to were it not for Sam's grounding warmth. His stability. His presence reminding Dean where his priorities must lie.

"There's a garage off the main street" Sam offered, "If we head over there now they might be able to sort something out by this evening."

Dean nodded but he didn't believe it. It wasn't like they had much of a choice though. They could hardly flee effectively over the long-term by bus.

Dean found something ominous about leaving the car at the side of the road, but they didn't really have a choice. Hopefully he could convince whoever owned the garage to town her back to the motel. If they could buy tires he would change them himself. He wouldn't leave the Impala unattended around strangers if it could be helped. There was too much incriminating material in the trunk for that, and they could hardly empty it out here and carry everything back to the motel. Not only would it take more than one trip, but Dean doubted they would get far before they were arrested.

He did fill a bag with an assortment of goodies before they left though, to supplement the supplies already in their room. That, along with Sam's books and the shopping meant they were heavily loaded down as they took to the road, and Dean had to again fight the urge to ask Sam to just hand over most of his burden.

Obviously it would have been too easy for the garage to have had any tires in stock – apparently that had just unloaded their last ones – so Dean was forced against his better judgement to let them tow the car to the lot while they waited for the parts to be able to fix it. If they were going to wait for the car they would not be able to leave until the end of the week. Dean just had to stress that there was no jack or spare in the trunk and forget to give them the key. At least this way he didn't have to worry about Sam changing them himself.

They were both exhausted by the time they made it back to the motel. And Sam seemed to think the immediate urgency to figure out their spirit problem had lessened now they would no longer have a 9pm deadline.

The coffee had long ago gone cold and been abandoned, although Sam had bought a couple of small easily carryable bottles of soda while Dean had been sorting out their transportation crisis, sensing they would not be allowed to leave the motel any time soon.

Dean allowed him the time to catch his breath, to sit on his bed and eat his muffin before he threw books in Sam's direction along with a glare that would keep him occupied for the next couple of hours.

Dean spent the time unpacking the supplied he had rescued from the car, stashing away the few weapons he had brought in strategic places around the room, giving a running commentary as he did so to make sure Sam knew where everything was, almost as though he didn't expect to be around himself to repack them.

Once that had been done to his satisfaction Dean removed the other items from the bag, setting them out along the table along with some Hessian and string. Sam was only half watching – he was trying to tune out his brother's odd behaviour because it was distracting him from his reading, and that only seemed to irritate Dean further. It wasn't as though Sam had _asked_ him to go peculiar.

But it wasn't long before the scent of whatever Dean was doing began to attract his attention. Pushing his text to one side he wandered over to join his brother at the table.

Dean was so engrossed that he didn't notice Sam watching him at first. He seemed to have got every ingredient and charm they owned out on the table and was adding things as the fancy took him to the pestle and mortar in front of him.

He was humming as he ground away, apparently finding the rhythm strangely therapeutic, and the tension that had been obvious in him when he had been fortifying their room seemed to be dissipating, so much so that when he raised his head to find Sam watching him he caught his eye with a smile, and did not criticise him for taking an unsanctioned break.

"What ya doing?"

"Protection wards." Dean shrugged, "Might hold the spirit off for the short term if it decides to get nasty with us again."

Sam watched in silence as he finished grinding the ingredients together and helped him pour them into his Hessian parcels, tying them with string.

"Keep this on you." Dean instructed, handing one over. He kept one for himself and again dotted the remainder around the room.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Sam asked, watching the last of Dean's efforts disappearing under his bed. Dean had not put one under his own, Sam noted with a frown.

"I'm just… being cautious." Dean smiled.

And it really did seem like his efforts had soothed him. The slightly manic glint he'd had in his eyes since the night before was long gone. There was no trace of his anger. The securer the room became the more the calm version of his brother that Sam had come to know over the past few months returned too. He still wanted to know what had worried him, but if Dean seemed to now be thinking that the threat was either manageable, or perhaps even only perceived, the urgency had faded. He didn't want to ruffle Dean's calm, and he knew he would be let into the loop when it became necessary. That was the way they worked. He was too grateful to have the Dean he recognised and needed back again to want to risk it by pushing, when he was so obviously not ready to discuss it yet.

It was hard to explain, but now the matter had been taken so firmly out of his hands Dean _was_ left with an overwhelming sense of calm. He'd been so concerned during the last 24 hours about keeping Kane and Sam apart, of strategising and timing the best moment to tell him, how much to keep to himself and how to modulate his mood. To try not to make Sam pull away through his own irrational need to hover. To keep him in the dark. But none of that mattered any more.

Ever since they had left the garage and his plans for skipping town had been thwarted, it had been clear what he had to do.

Handing Sam over to Kane was simply not an option. If they ran they would be caught. Even if Kane wasn't already watching them it would not take him long to find them. It was stupid to believe otherwise. Dean was a frigging guiding system. He would lead this madman straight to his brother, and he did not doubt Kane's words for a second. He would make Sam suffer. Dean's throat constricted just thinking about it. If he could not remove Sam from that threat, then he would just have to remove the threat from Sam. And if the only way he now had of doing that was to respond to Kane's invitation himself, then that was what he would do. There was no doubt in his mind at all that this was the right course of action. If there had been than his twitching paranoia would probably still have been in force. But now he felt nothing but a kind of detached acceptance.

There was no room for anger. There was no point. Sam had done what he'd done to keep Dean safe, and now he would return the favour. He could not hate Sam for putting him in this position. Sam wasn't making him go, and he understood more clearly than ever before Sam's silence on the matter, because there was no power on this earth that would get him to admit what he was planning to do.

He remembered again the feeling of pain and guilt that had hit him the instant of Kane's revelation. A part of him knew he would be leaving Sam with those emotions. With the frustration of knowing his fate had been taken out of his hands. But then, had Sam ever really believed it was in his hands to begin with?

It didn't matter. Sam could curse and rage as much as he wanted; he would be alive, and when it came down to it that was the only thing that mattered. It was the only thing that had ever mattered. Dean hadn't been lying when he's said that. He'd never been more truthful before in his life. Sam knew that. Dean could only hope he would find a little bit of comfort in that fact. That what Dean was doing now was something that came as naturally to him as breathing.

_Watch out for Sammy._

There was no room for fear, not on his own behalf. He was terrified for Sam. Not just for the initial hours of having no clue where Dean had got to and why he hadn't come home. But for everything that would come after that. He wouldn't know, would probably never suspect, it had been Kane. He would be spared the pain of that because there would be no-one left to tell him of it. Kane would keep his word. Propriety was his all. He would not go after Sam if Dean gave him what he wanted. He believed that. He had to believe that. But that would lead to an entirely different kind of pain.

Would he believe Dean dead? Or would be believe he had simply been abandoned? That being back on the road again with Sam was simply too much. The constant burden of watching out for him, or worrying for him and of him and where his future might lead them. It was a life that Sam had never wanted for him, but surely Sam knew he would have it no other way? But how would that weigh up against the simple fact that Dean was no longer here?

He sighed. He had promised their father he would save Sam. And he was going to. But where would that leave him in the long term? Would Dean simply be allowing Sam's own doubts and insecurities to play straight into the demon's hands?

Hopefully he would buy Sam time to figure something out. Some way to ward of what he already believed was inevitable. Wasn't that all he had ever done?

And if Sam was capable of believing Dean could abandon _him_, he would not for a moment consider that he could also leave behind their weapons and his car. Because Sam was a complete brainless freak when it came to Dean's priorities. If Dean disappeared without a trace Sam would no doubt believe it was the demon that was behind it, and Dean could only hope that would light enough of a fire inside him to ensure he didn't give in without putting up one hell of a fight.

Sam was becoming obviously more nervous as the day progressed, fearful as to what would happen when night fell and they were still no closer to finding something to burn. It was as though he took it as a personal failing; they had such a wealth of sources and information at their disposal and yet he still couldn't put the pieces together in the correct order to make everything about this place make sense. As though if he proved he could do this he would be worthy of knowing what extra burden Dean carried.

He would have to go soon. It was quite a walk and he couldn't risk being late.

It had been an easy decision to make. It had been right. But it was only now, with so little time left, that it was becoming real. This was the last time he would sit opposite Sam pretending to read while instead he watched his brother work. Was it possible that was the last time he would see Sam push his hair behind his ear? He'd seen it so many times before; such a familiar subconscious gesture that he'd never stopped to think about it before. But that, right there, would probably be the last time he ever saw it. He was almost tempted to ruffle Sam's hair just to be able to see it again.

When was the last time he'd heard him laugh? Really laugh. He couldn't remember. Was it before this job had begun? How was he any good at keeping Sam alive if he couldn't remember the last time he had laughed? He wished he'd paid closer attention. Thought to savour the moment. But he hadn't known.

All thought of research was forgotten now. He would no longer have the time left to share what he found. Time to spare on anything that wasn't Sam. He had spent a lifetime just watching him, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, memorising every hair, every feature. He knew them better than his own. But that didn't mean he ever got tired of taking them in.

He was less subtle than usual in his observations and Sam lifted his eyes from the page to meet Dean's, and the smile he gave him made Dean's heart ach, but he smiled back because he was so grateful that he could see that one last time too. That he could be on the receiving end of that smile. It just made these last hours so much clearer. He wanted to reach out across the table, to touch Sam's face, to hold his hand inside his own. To feel his warmth, his light, his life. But they didn't do that. There would have been no clearer way to let Sam know there was something wrong than to tell him he loved him. As much as he wanted Sam to know it. As much as he wanted to hear himself say those words. To hear the sentiment returned.

He had no idea what to actually say now the time had come. He'd had all afternoon and the whole evening to think of something, but his mind had been distracted on other things. But how did you possibly decide what you wanted your last words to your only remaining family to be?

He knew what Sam had intended his to be. Dean had never allowed him to say them, but he had known none the less. He heard them on an endless loop every time the night got to quiet, never sure if they should be taken as a torture or a gift. But Sam had been bleeding to death in his arms when he'd attempted to say them. It was appropriate then. One of the few times when such display was.

He was tempted to just get up and walk out the door without a word, but that would be pointless because Sam would follow. And he knew, Sam had known in that instant, that the words were not for himself. He wasn't the one that would have to live with them. Would come to need them. To attempt to find some comfort locked deep inside.

He wanted so desperately to leave Sam with some kind of peace. To leave him with a memory that wouldn't be some form of torture in the future. He tried, he really did, so he wasn't quite sure himself how the argument began. Couldn't be sure who had started yelling first. How it came to be that his last words to Sam were spoken in that tone. Not that it would come to matter to him, because he wouldn't have to live with it. He wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that his last action as a brother was to slam to door in Sam's face. To leave him handcuffed to a bedpost, frantically screaming Dean's name like he knew it was the last time he would use it. Pleading that it would be okay and that he was sorry; that he didn't understand he just really really had to stay here. But Dean did understand. He understood that he could storm away into a shimmering haze to the unmistakable sound of a chair being kicked across the room behind him, muffled now by the entrance be would never again be able to take. Sam was destroying their room like an enraged tiger; Dean could hear it, see it in his head even if he wasn't there to witness it in person. But he wasn't stupid. He knew he would be long gone before Sam figured out how to get out of those cuffs. It wasn't like he hadn't removed every lock picking aid during his preparation of the room. Eventually Sam would follow, but he didn't know where Dean was going, so he would never make it there in time.

He should have known Sam would not take any of his attempts to pacify in place of an explanation, would not let him touch him again. Would not let the physical comfort or gesture distract him from the truth there was something wrong. From the fact he had just he had just been immobilised and tied to a bed by the one person he trusted. From the knowledge his words would probably have been more effective if they had been in a foreign language, which for some reason had only made Sam scream all the louder.

And so Sam swiped his hand away, pulled back from Dean's approach, the exact look of fear concern and defiance in his eyes that Dean had fled from having to see the night before. Had met Dean's false assurances and refusal to open up with the anger he should have exhibited instead of crumpling into a shocked heap by his bed. Instead of the gentle tentative knocking, the plaintive call of his name.

But how could he make Sam see? How could he tell him that this worked both ways? That on some level, for Sam, Dean's last words would forever come to be overshadowed by his last words to Dean. Because to do that would be to give away all that he had promised to conceal.

Dean knew that Sam didn't hate him. He was angry and he was confused and he didn't know how else to find answers. Dean even found it in him to be proud at the level of his brother's determination. Comforted by his refusal to shy away from a fight; to prove yet again that his old strength and fire were still there, lurking beneath the surface, ready to be thrown out there when they were needed.

He understood the truth behind Sam's words. Saw it in the smile he had given Dean from across the table only minutes before, in the gentle touch that had tended to his injuries too many times to count, in that concerned face that had hovered so close to his own when he had opened his eyes on that shop floor.

Of course he knew that Sam trusted him. He had lent on him heavily in the past few months and trusted him not to break, not to resent the action. He had trusted Dean with his fractured emotions, known that he would help him fix them back into place. He had placed his rehabilitation into Dean's hands, accepted his guidance as an absolute truth until he had been strong enough to retake the reigns.

Of course he knew that Sam loved him. He had told him as much that time he had pushed Dean out of the way of the axe that poltergeist had thrown at him in Wisconsin, only to have it almost take his own arm off. Or all the other times, too numerous to contemplate when he'd been able to step in front of Dean before Dean had a chance to shove him out of the way. His eyes had said it in that alley even if his mouth had not, and after they had closed it was in his seeking hand, that gentle reassuring squeeze, the way he had always managed to fall asleep with a couple of Dean's fingers as hostages so he couldn't go anywhere without the risk of waking him.

But most clearly, it was in whatever deal he had made with Kane. In the fact that he had not only said he would die for his brother tucked away in the safety of their car, but had said it to Kane's face. To someone who would hold him to it in a way he must surely have known Dean would not.

And so Dean found that their last words, their last time together, could not have been more unimportant to him in the face of the twenty-four years that had gone before it. If anything they were only a demonstration of that bond. That devotion. The need to be a part of whatever it was that was so clearly eating Dean inside.

But he knew that Sam would not see it that way. And he couldn't bear to know that Sam would torture himself for the rest of his life for the fact the last thing he had said to his brother had been hateful. Had been an accusation. Had maybe pushed him into not wanting to come back. Because Sam was too stupid to realise that Dean could see beyond his words to the need that drove them. Because Sam might still not fully understand the true meaning behind Dean's words when he had said them:

All Dean needed to know who he was, to know he had purpose, to know his life had some worth, was for Sam to be alive. And even if that mean alive and yelling at him it still held true. Alive and at the other side of the continent in his girlfriend's bed with a new family around him… perhaps then it had meant even more. Despite what Sam had always believed, he did not have to be compliant to be loved. It just helped on occasion.

It almost broke Dean to know the torment that Sam would wake up to, but if he could not cradle that cheek in his palm, if he could not get close enough to rest a reassuring hand on those weighted shoulders… If he couldn't take hold of Sam's hand and rest it close to his heart where it belonged, then there was no way in hell that Kane was going to touch him in Dean's place. Dean had seen too much of Sam's blood spilt. Too much of it still stained his hands. He would not live and see any more. Sam's blood was going to remain firmly inside his body as long as he had anything to do about it. His emotions, fairly stable for the time being, the present moment excepted, would stay where they belonged. His Sammy would not be violated in _any_ way.

And so Dean knew he had to leave, and leave now if he was to make a difference. He responded to Sam's words and tone in kind but let his eyes express some of the misery inside him. Some of the hope that Sam would live, that his actions might save his world. So that when Sam thought back on this moment in the days and weeks to come, he might be able to see beyond the obvious face of it to the truth beneath. Be able to ignore Dean's words and tone for the meaning behind them, to understand that Dean could see through his own.

He walked quickly, partly through a need to put distance between himself and that final argument, partly because of the fear of being late. Kane had given a strict midnight deadline and he intended to keep it. He would not come undone because of a technicality. He was practically power walking, concentrating hard on the rhythm of his footsteps until they were the only sound he could hear. The only thought in his head.

He had no idea what he was walking into. What Kane would have in store. It was unlikely it would be pleasant.

He was armed, but that was more out of habit than anything else. If he had an opening, would he take it? Could he not? When it came down to it, in those final moments, would instinct kick in, overthrowing the calm in his head?

Handing himself over. It was much too much like giving up, but he had considered this from every angle and the odds were not in their favour. They could leave this town by bus but they could not leave the city until dawn. They could not leave a trail of stolen cars behind them. The stakes were too high. If he acted and he failed, it was not his own life he was gambling with.

The field was deserted, a shocking contrast to every other time he'd seen it. It matched the shift that had occurred inside him since the first time he had been here.

He wandered slowly all the way across. Kane had not specified but he figured he would wait at the other side, in the area where he had been approached.

The clean up crew had done a poor job. He wondered absently who owned the field and what it was used for the other 51 weeks of the year. It was more mud than grass now, littered with discarded flyers and food wrappers, trampled into the dirt. Then he wondered at the direction his mind was taking. The mundane nature of his last thoughts.

He took a seat on the mangled remains of a tree stump. He would be able to see Kane long before he approached, although given the man's unusual speed it probably wouldn't be much of a heads up.

At least the field had the feel of a cemetery. A fitting place to fall in a way. Although he supposed Kane would take him somewhere else first. It would be easier than having to carry him.

It was five minutes to midnight and Dean was growing nervous, but not about the obvious. Where was he? Was he being observed? Was Kane somewhere hidden, dragging this out until the last possible moment?

At five past twelve he was still able to believe that Kane was merely late. By twenty past Dean knew he wasn't going to show. Had perhaps never intended to show.

What was the point in going to all that trouble, making all those threats, to ensure a meting you were never even going to attend?

Because he'd known Dean would be the one responding.

Dean flew to his feet with a curse, spinning a few wild steps, searching desperately for some sign that he was wrong. For some sign of a parked vehicle. For anything in this backwater out of the way location that would help him get back to the motel, back to Sam, faster than the two miles on foot would currently take him.

Kane had been an idiot to think that Dean would mention this meeting to Sam, would have allowed Sam to come in his place. With their car out of commission Dean had been left with only one choice. But that was the point, wasn't it?

He took off at a run. His heart was already pounding so hard he was surprised he could even maintain the pace for the length of the field. But that wasn't going to stop him now. The panic welling up inside him was inhuman so it was not going to be held in check by something as mundane as human physiology.

Feet pounding on the unforgiving concrete of the main street. Still so far to go. Still so stupid. So easily manipulate by these stupid emotions. His weak spot. His Sammy. The one thing he had left in the world. The one thing he would have let himself be put down like a dog to protect. Would fight with a frightening intensity to keep safe. Kane had told him as much.

And not only had he tied his brother up, left him immobile and defenceless, but he had walked out of that room without a backwards glance, exactly like Kane had known he would, leaving the way to Sam horribly clear.

TBC

I had such a hard time writing this chapter I can barely believe I could even face posting it myself. The last part is blatantly the only bit of interest; I just really couldn't find a way of getting through the day. I tried to have Dean explore some alternatives – I didn't want it too feel like he was just handing himself over, but he had to go. And I kept thinking up more last ditch efforts they could have attempted to escape with. But there are only so many times you can tweak something before you have to give up and move on. Please just accept that Dean really did try is best, but Kane would have been able to find them if they'd gone, and he is paralysed by the thought of what Kane will do to Sam if he's pushed. I wrote myself into a bit of a hole because I wanted to keep the next chapter intact, when to be fair having some of it happen earlier may have made this one work better. Please accept it as the filler it is. The next part's more interesting. I think. Honest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: Same as before.

**Chapter Eight**

Dean was greeted by the sound of the shower running. Besides the fact Sam was no longer visible, his voice no longer echoing off the walls, the room was exactly as Dean had left it. Even the chair he had heard clattering across the floor had been righted, was sitting innocently in its spot by the table as though its flight had never happened. The cuffs were still attached at one end to the bed, the other tauntingly empty.

He lent heavily against the doorframe, breathing hard, the effort of the run catching up with him, his heart rate still racing from shock. He barely had the strength left in his shaking legs to get him across the threshold and into the room proper. To get his lungs working. To scream his brother's name.

The room was pristine. There was no sign of a struggle. That in itself was unnerving, because Sam had been tearing the room apart. Would have to have rearranged the furniture just to be able to get free. Everything looked secure, but nothing would have stopped him from performing a thorough check of the room and perimeter just to be sure.

Had Sam unpacked?

There was no sign that anything obviously untoward had happened, but other than the sound of the running water there was no trace of Sam either.

"Sam" he hollered, banging on the bathroom door, "You in there?"

There was a brief pause during which Dean's world momentarily crumbled and he could actually feel himself sinking to the floor, before a small voice drifted out.

"Well who else do you think it's gonna be?"

He had a point. Kane was hardly going to stop by to have a shower.

"Okay." He called out lamely, drifting in a daze to perch himself on the edge of his bed, hoping that would somehow counteract the way the room was currently spinning. More than anything he wanted to break down the door that separated them, see for himself that Sam was real, safe, complete, but even if he had the strength he doubted very much that Sam would have appreciated the intrusion.

He breathed deeply, trying to get his heart rate back under control, unable to stop the way his eyes were still darting around the room, the way his hand clenched around the knife it had somehow acquired without his knowledge. He furrowed his brow in consternation. This made absolutely no sense. Why would Kane have gone to all the trouble of tracking him, of arranging a meeting, and then not even show? If it hadn't been an elaborate means of distraction, of leaving Sam vulnerable, and his mere presence in the bathroom suggested that it hadn't, then it made no sense. And Dean was sure Kane never did anything just for the hell of it. There was a purpose behind this somewhere, and it terrified him that he couldn't see what it was.

His mind was racing but he soon managed to get the physical signs of his worry under slightly better control. From the amount of time it took before Sam emerged from the bathroom Dean took the hint that Sam was still upset with him, wanted to avoid having to be in the same room with him for as long as possible. He _had_ tied him up after all. Dean didn't care. Sam could be as pissed at him as he wanted as long as he was alive. He could never feel more critically towards him than Dean felt towards himself right now. There was every possibility that he had very nearly, very really, just left Sam alone to die. He deserved a little bit of the silent treatment after that.

But there was no trace of hostility in his face when Sam finally joined him. He just looked like Dean felt. Tired and sad. It had been a long time since they'd really argued about anything, especially with that intensity. Even when Sam had still been riding the emotional ups and downs with his medication, during the stress and exhaustion of his physiotherapy regime, they had always done their best to stop their frustrations from lashing out at each other. Had offered nothing but peace and understanding for so long that now the heat of the moment was behind them and the anger was gone, it left them empty and drained.

Dean wasn't sure he could even remember the last time they had really fought, let alone what it had been about. Anything since Sam had been hurt didn't count, because Sam had been too weak to really go for it, and Dean too awed by Sam's presence to have the heart to argue back, or to mean what he said if he did.

The past few days had been draining. They were both dealing with additional pressures that had not been present in their lives for so long now. And Sam had the added confusion of not being able to grasp where Dean's sudden hostility and irrational behaviour had emerged from. But he got the feeling Sam wasn't the only one being kept in the dark. And that was going to stop. Now.

Well, soon. His brain hadn't caught up with his body yet, was still somewhere in that field waiting for Kane, and he got the impression he was going to need it if Sam started talking.

"You manage to find anything?" He asked instead, indicating to the laptop and texts Sam had left still scattered across the table top, hoping that Sam would take his enquiry as a peace offering for now. Asking how he had managed to free himself would probably cause the conversation to go downhill fast. Besides looking pale and weary Sam did not appear to be hurt. It didn't seem as though anything untoward had happened during his absence. Dean just wanted to bask in that fact for a while before having to revisit the worry that seeing Sam intact seemed to have momentarily displaced.

"Hmmmmm?" Sam turned bloodshot eyes to face him. He'd been in the room for less than a minute and already he'd managed to lose himself in his own little world.

"The research. McAlister." Dean prompted patiently, "Before I… left, you said you were still working some ideas through. You find anything?"

"Oh. No. Kinda. Maybe. Not really."

"We're still no nearer to having something to burn?"

"I don't know… I didn't really… I haven't finished looking. Sorry."

"What were you doing instead?" He meant besides breaking free of his bonds, tidying their room, unpacking their bags again and going for a shower. At one in the morning. Who took a shower at one in the morning?

Sam just shrugged despondently, still looking everywhere but at Dean.

Great. So he'd been moping. That was productive, although to be fair hardly unexpected. Although he'd have quite liked to think Sam had at least _tried_ to find him, was not _that_ worried about retribution. Although if he hadn't been in the room waiting for him when Dean returned he would have had a meltdown, so perhaps moping was good.

But when Sam finally lifted his head the smile he gave Dean was real.

"How was the walk?" he asked softly, and Dean realised he was trying to gauge whether or not Dean was still pissed at him. If his mindless generic talk was because he couldn't bear to have to find anything more personal to say. If he was perhaps more willing to share what had been wrong. And the concern in Sam's eyes made Dean look away in shame. But there was absolutely nothing else he could have done. He had hurt Sam, but it had been meant to keep him safe.

"I'm good." It was only partially a lie. Yes Kane was still out there, and Dean had no idea what he wanted or what he was going to do about that fact, but Sam was safe and no longer yelling at him and for the time being that was the most important fact.

"Oh... I did find…" Sam made it almost a step away from the bed towards the table before his legs gave way, but luckily he was still close enough to the bed to grab hold and guide his fall in that direction.

"Sam?!" Dean stood in alarm.

"Head rush." Sam murmured, and with every bounce of the bed he seemed to grow a little more pale. He shifted, but while Dean thought he was about to try standing again and positioned himself in case he was needed, Sam instead just lowered his head towards his knees and closed his eyes.

"How hot did you have that shower?" Dean questioned with a strained laugh, crouching in front of his brother, one hand hovering tentatively above his bowed head, the anxiety that had been absent since Sam had shown himself almost enough to make him dizzy himself.

"I'm okay." Sam exhaled, giving Dean's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, having no idea how badly Dean wanted to just melt into that touch. "Just a little dizzy." He admitted unnecessarily when Dean's frown of concern didn't go away. "There should still be some soda in my bag, could you fetch it for me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Of course."

It had been a long week and a stressful couple of days. He had known Sam was beginning to feel the strain of it but he'd seemed mostly back on form today. Dean hated to see his brother so weary. It wasn't easy to forget they were still easing themselves into this, and it was always too easy to remember why. The pale tinge to Sam's skin, the slight glaze in his eyes; they brought that back all too clearly. Were more effective reminders that even Kane's presence, his threats had been. And perhaps Dean now had his answer as to why Sam had not come barrelling through the door the instant he had broke free.

"Here you go."

Sam took the bottle with shaking hands and a sorrowful expression, and he had to breath deep to compose himself before he risked raising the bottle to his lips. He only seemed able to stomach a few mouthfuls before he held the bottle back out for Dean to take, how to put the lid back on or where to put it now that he had it seemingly beyond him. With that realisation he seemed to give up all pretence that he had been going to get back up again, withdrawing from Dean's reach and clambering round to flop back on the bed.

Dean set the bottle down on the table beside him and sank down gently on his brother's bed. Sam lay with one knee raised from the bed, and he wasn't sure how it had happened but Dean suddenly found he was gripping it reassuringly, and that Sam's eyes were watching him with a curiously amused smile. Dean tried to smile back but he didn't make it, tried to remove his hand but he didn't know how it had even got there, so how to remove it was beyond him.

He licked his lips nervously, knowing he needed to say something. Sam needed to know there was a very good possibility that Kane knew where he was, needed to know that he wasn't safe here. That the contact Dean so needed could be his death sentence.

But how could he say that? He still didn't want to risk Sam committing himself to whatever vow he'd made, but Kane had a plan now that Dean could no longer claim to understand. Sam's ignorance could leave them both vulnerable to that.

But how could Dean admit that he didn't know how to keep him safe?

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, moving his leg gently out of Dean's grasp and lowering it back to the bed. Dean sighed. Why did Sam have to be so astute? He didn't even know what was going on, but he knew that whatever it was Dean didn't have the brain capacity to deal with it and the threat of Sam being ill at the same time. That he was already too emotionally fraught to protect himself from the onslaught of memories seeing Sam so pale was sure to evoke. The guilt that maybe if Sam hadn't known that, he might have spoken up sooner, and Dean might have tried harder to avoid getting him so upset.

But there was no way they could have avoided that scene.

"I'm okay. Just tired. I promise." He said firmly, giving Dean's hand a reassuring squeeze, and Dean knew their routine well enough by now to know that by making contact Sam was acknowledging Dean's concern and showing his appreciation for it, but by breaking it off so soon was dismissing the subject as something no longer worth their time. It was a stupid system but it worked, and Dean did feel mildly reassured. If Sam had been feeling bad enough to be concerned himself, he would not have so easily let go.

"What were you going to say?" Dean stood, closing the moment. Sam was tired and hadn't been eating well for the last couple of days, and if the steam still leaking out of the bathroom was anything to go by it was a miracle he hadn't passed out in the shower. He was back to sipping the soda again now and was looking much more in control than he had minutes before. Dean would have to just keep a closer eye on him than usual, or as that was not really possible, a different kind of eye, because if he really was getting sick Dean didn't want to risk it getting away from them again.

"I gave up on the books. From the timing and MO this is definitely linked to McAlister, and since there are no bones, unless we find out what happened to the wife I think we're looking for some kind of cursed object."

"That doesn't really narrow it down."

"Well, it's definitely something in the school."

"How can you be so sure?" Dean was not convinced. The school was definitely involved somehow, if only through McAlister, but the spirit was not confined to it.

"I finally got around to finishing my maps." Sam admitted with a smile, "Check it out." He indicated to the elaborate spread of paper laid out on the table top. Each of the printouts he had acquired from the various motels they'd stopped at were taped together to form an almost complete town plan, fudged in some areas where the scales failed to cooperate. Dotted across the surface were a frightening number of coloured crosses – Sam had provided a key showing what colour denoted what timeframe – and some thick coloured lines that Dean was less easily ably to interpret.

He shook his head. He had to admit he was impressed. Sam's determination never failed to amaze him.

Sam had struggled off the bed and groggily made his way over to a chair by the table, drink still in hand, from where he could talk his brother through his findings.

"The crosses mark the location of the attacks" he explained.

"I get that, but what are these boxes?"

"The location of the school. Or school land. It's been shrinking pretty much since McAlister's day. There used to be loads of out buildings and dorms scattered all over the place. And the school owned a lot of the land in between, rented out housing to teachers and the like. The lines mark the outer limit of the school's influence, and how that's changed over time."

Dean nodded, seeing now what Sam was getting at. The crosses were all within the original school's perimeter, although randomly spaced. But as the school's sphere of influence had decreased, the area where the attacks had occurred had decreased in line with it.

"From what I can tell, the old principal's house still belongs to the school. If you join the present day points together, you get…"

"It goes straight across the street where the Camble's house was." Dean finished for him, relieved that the unusual EMF reading there had a reasonable sounding explanation, because he'd been a little concerned at the lack of sense. Not that he'd stopped to give it much thought for the last 24 hours. "That's still a large area to be working out of. What makes you think whatever the spirit's linked to is in the actual school building itself?"

Sam's slightly guilty silence answered that question.

"Because that's the only place you've felt it, isn't it?" Dean nodded in Sam's place. "You didn't pick anything up at the store and it had been there literally minutes before you arrived. Even the library falls in this things zone and you were there most of the day. But the only time you felt something was on the school grounds." The EMF had been reacting like crazy everywhere Dean went; he had never stopped to consider why Sam hadn't been pinging with it too.

"Not just the grounds, the main building." Sam admitted. "The gym and music block seemed clean."

"God you're better than the EMF." Dean wasn't sure if that came out sounding more impressed or scared.

Sam just shrugged and ignored the opening to talk about it, just as he had back at the school building. To point out that if he had been better he would have been picking up the same readings. He may have been more useful on this occasion, but it wasn't like he had been deliberately trying for it. The unusual nature of the fact it was him willing to discuss it and Sam taking the 'ignore it and maybe it'll go away' approach to his powers was not lost on Dean, but he wouldn't push. Sam's eyes were barely half mast as it was, and he couldn't pretend he didn't flinch every time Sam so much as winced; at even the smallest suspicion that he maybe had a headache. If Sam had a vision it would be the longest few minutes of his life.

Sam was now resting his head on his arms as though about to fall asleep any second, but his eyes were open again and on Dean as though determined not to let him out of his sight. And Dean noticed for the first time just how puffy and bloodshot they really were, the tense line of his jaw, the crinkle of his brow that Dean couldn't completely account for.

"I ran into a buddy of yours on my walk." He still hadn't consciously decided what to tell Sam, but the thought maybe the truth would ease the tension, at least for a few seconds before it really sunk in, momentarily overrode his other senses.

"Kane." Sam nodded, a world of understanding suddenly showing in his tired eyes. "And no you didn't. You wouldn't be here if you had." He tilted his chin to face Dean but closed his eyes, as though this conversation would be easier for both of them if they weren't open. And he was probably right. Dean was struck again by not only how weary he looked, but how pallid.

"You're not surprised?" Dean had been. He still was.

"Makes sense."

"How long have you..?" He wouldn't give in to the approaching anger. He would not. Sam didn't look as though he could withstand it this time. It would break him.

"I didn't… I…" A sigh that nearly blew Dean away, and if possible Sam sunk even further into the table. "I thought I saw him. Yesterday. But I figured I was just imagining it. Associating with the violence. I was gonna say something… well I wasn't, but then I was, and then you were attacked, and then you went weird, and I just… I'd never really believed it was him anyway."

And the uneasy way Sam had been searching the street with him suddenly came back to him, and suddenly made a lot more sense. He shook his head. When would they learn? They'd both been secretly worrying about the same thing, and neither of them had bothered to share it.

Would their argument have been lessened, or even more intense if they had?

"You're lucky I can't stand, or I'd be kicking your ass right about now, just so you know." His tone was stern but there was a softness around his eyes that Dean just wanted to curl up and fall asleep in.

"What do you..?"

"Please. You left your keys, all your money, and secured the room like you were expecting some kind of demon apocalypse. Which Kane's not by the way. I don't think cats eye shells or the scent of rosemary would exactly have him running for cover." His lips were twitching slightly. "But thank you," he breathed.

"Wait... You knew? And you didn't come after me! What the hell?"

A shadow passed over Sam's eyes, like something dark was lurking beneath them. He swallowed hard, trying to bring the smile back into place.

"I didn't. Not until you said it. Not really. It just… It answers all the questions though doesn't it?"

Dean hadn't been going to tell Sam that he had deliberately set out to meet Kane. He knew how painful that realisation could be; the ach of it would probably never leave him. It had never occurred to him that Sam might figure it out. It would never have crossed his mind. _Had _never crossed his mind until Kane had told him. But he couldn't undo it, and like Sam, he would not apologise for it.

"What did he say that would make you go?" curious and sad.

"He told me what you did."

"What I…?

"The deal you made." Dean couldn't match Sam's tone. Yes he'd been prepared to go too, but he was also prepared to admit it. "No more games."

"Deal..? I never…"

"Well, I'm not saying you signed anything, but…"

"I swear to you I didn't deal. Well… Not really. I didn't agree to anything. He brought it up, but I never actually gave him an answer. And then the vampire stepped in, and I had the device, and I kind of took it and ran. It all got left a little up in the air." He sighed, knowing that Dean was not really buying his story. He'd bee keeping the truth from him for so long, would either of them recognise it now?

"I didn't have a choice." He whispered.

"You always have a choice."

"No. I didn't. He offered the deal but he didn't mean it. He wasn't going to let me leave. It was just a game. He just wanted to see if I'd take it. And I didn't, not really I swear, because I knew it wasn't a real offer."

"And if it had been?"

Sam just looked at him, a 'like you can talk' expression in his eyes.

"If the vampire hadn't shown up to distract him I wouldn't have got out of there. And this wouldn't be an issue. Okay so I had a choice. It was stay there and wait for Kane to get around to me or leave while I had the chance, and just take the risk he'd come after me. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Tell me."

"I did!"

"Ummm, I think you'll find…"

"I told you that Kane was still alive. God, I told anyone that would listen. And I told you that I thought he'd come after us. I just… neglected to mention all of why."

"The offer he made you. You think it was just a game?"

"Until it was the only way to get what he wanted, yes. Why deal unless you have to?"

"So he never intended to meet me tonight." Dean mused, "He just wanted to see if… hey. What..?"

Sam stood abruptly from the table, barely concealing a wobble, and turned his back on Dean to make his way back to the bed.

"He just wanted to see if you would." Sam finished for him.

"Which means he already has another plan in mind. We just don't know what it is." Dean was liking this less and less. "Well, you've dealt with him before, what do you suggest?" he wished Sam would open his eyes, let him know what he was thinking. Or even better, tell him what to think. Dean was much too tired to have to do that for himself right now.

"What do I think he wants?" Sam asked, as though he couldn't believe he'd been asked the question.

"Well yeah."

"I think he wants to be left alone."

"What?" was Sam talking about Kane or himself?

"He's not accustomed to lying low. And I think he's getting tired of it. But he can't rebuild the position he had while constantly looking over his shoulder. I think he wants to be left alone. And I think he's trying to give you a reason why going after him might not be the best idea. Because he can regain his reputation two ways; through time and effort or by one large sweeping gesture. And that gesture isn't necessarily going to go well for any of us, so…"

"How do you know this?"

Sam flinched guiltily. "You asked me what I thought. I'm telling you what I think."

"You think we do nothing?"

"Well there's not much we can do about it right now, is there?"

"What? How can you just..?"

"Well there's not. We don't know where he is or what he's really after. We have no car until the end of the week so we can't just leave. And we still have this spirit to deal with." That could not have been lower on Dean's list of priorities if it was rampaging through the motel room right now.

"I'm not saying we do nothing, God knows I'm not…" His jaw was tense and there was a line of fury there that momentarily scared Dean, but in an instant it was gone. "I'm just saying that until we have a better idea about what's going on there's not much we _can_ do. About Kane anyway. This spirit we can deal with."

Dean didn't want to believe that. Sam sensed his reluctance.

"Just… Promise me you're not going to start looking for Kane." He was sitting up now and watching Dean with concern. "He's unpredictable. I think… slightly more hands off might be a better approach."

"Why would..?"

"Don't tempt him Dean. You have something he wants. Don't make him come looking for it. If he does what he needs to do on the run… I just…"

"Sam?"

"God I'm tired. Can we… can we talk about this in the morning?"

"I don't know, can we?" Sam wasn't nearly as concerned about this as he'd expected, but Dean's mind was already starting to blank around the edges, because when he'd left here Sam had been yelling and throwing things and now he was too exhausted to sit upright. It had been a long time since that had been the case. And he hated himself as much as he hated Kane for having helped reduce him to this. For having him waste whatever energy he'd had on worrying and arguing and practically working this case solo, because he'd stopped thinking about it the second Kane had re-entered their lives. Couldn't help but be put out by Sam's unwavering need to see it though.

"He's not going to barge in in the middle of the night."

"How can you be sure?"

"'S not his style." Sam slurred, "'S hardly gentlemanly."

Like messing with them this way was? But in a twisted way Dean could understand Sam's logic. Kane held a lot of stake on appearances and propriety. On reputation. Ambushing them without warning in the middle of the night might fit with his conquering by intimidation character trait, but not his fair play ideals. So maybe they were safe for the time being, but Dean was still far from happy.

He stood, and as though sensing his approach Sam rolled over in bed until he had his back to Dean.

Dean sighed and sat back on the edge of Sam's bed anyway, feeling him tense through the mattress.

"Hey. How you doing?"

"I just wanna sleep."

Close too Sam looked even more sallow, and his skin was clammy. For the second time in as many days Dean placed his hand against his brother's forehead, searching for signs of a fever, not really 100 per cent sure himself what he would do if he found one. Besides worry. More.

"I'm okay, I just wanna sleep." Sam repeated. He didn't elaborate, but nor did he shy away from Dean's touch, and after the last few days Dean didn't think he could ask for anything more.

He might have agreed with Sam's interpretation enough to believe Kane was not going to be breaking down the door any time soon, but that didn't mean he could relax enough to sleep when he finally made it to bed that night. He'd been tense, argumentative, practically committed suicide, had been convinced Sam was dead, and then had the relief that he was alive tempered by watching him almost pass out in front of his eyes. He'd expected the aftermath of that to have left him feeling as weak as Sam looked, but while he might have been exhausted his mind couldn't stop going over the last few days. Strategising where they could possibly go from here. But one thing was certain. They'd played enough games with each other. Told enough half truths. There would be nothing but honesty from here on, even if Dean had to resort to threats and violence to obtain it. Because there was something obvious, under his very nose, that was still very wrong here.

Perhaps it was that this was the night the nightmares came back. They left Dean bathed in a cool sweat, bolting upright with his brother's name hovering on his lips, salt on his face, the image of that last goodbye burned forever onto his brain.

They left Sam simply shaking. Curled in on himself as small as he could go, issuing small indiscernible whimpers, and the shaking, shaking, shaking. Like he would never be warm. Dean tried to bring him out of it. Hoped that the contact he had been left needing might sooth them both, but Sam just curled deeper into himself as though trying to escape the horrors of the outside world, as though his sanity depended on it, and nothing Dean could do or say would convince him otherwise.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

**Chapter Nine**

It was late when Dean finally stirred. It had been close to the time when Sam would usually have been getting up before he had even got to sleep. Despite not waking up until almost midday Dean did not feel rested. In fact he could almost believe Sam had merely put all the clocks forward four hours to encourage him to get up, if not for the fact it didn't look as though Sam had been out of bed himself long enough to put that plan into motion.

Sam looked less pale and much more stable on his feet this morning, but there was a haze of worry in his eyes that Dean would have given anything to have been able to erase. Except that fact was no doubt a part of the problem, and he knew his brother's concern was a mirror of his own, and managing that was still a work in progress.

He was acting fine, but from the fact Sam had already got dressed and was in his street clothes as appose to running clothes, Dean took the hint that he had no intention again of making his run. Although to be fair doing anything at all today would involve a three mile round trip on foot, so Dean would perhaps let him off. If they were going to be leaving this room that was.

"Where do you think he's staying?" Dean mused, rummaging through his bag for underwear.

"Huh?"

"Kane. He followed us here, and we spent hours looking for a room. So where do you think he's staying? He's not here, so he must be in one of the neighbouring towns. There must be dozens of spots, there's no way we could…"

"If Kane wanted a room I don't think the fact they were full would have really stopped him. And he doesn't strike me as a motel kind of guy. But I mean it; don't go looking for him. He's had his fun, let's leave it at that. I think we should just concentrate on getting the job done and getting out of here."

"We can't just ignore this…"

"There's nothing to ignore. It's over. Don't go digging it all back up again."

"Over! I'd say things are still pretty much up in the air…"

"They're _really_ not." And there was a confidence and finality to his world that took Dean aback. But there was no way the Sam could know that. No way that Sam could be as sure about everything as he seemed to be on the back of that one interaction. And he had not looked at Dean all morning. He knew he would not have been able to hide it if he had.

"What did you do?" Please tell me you didn't do anything was what he wanted to ask, but he knew he wouldn't have received the answer he was looking for.

"What I had to."

"Which means?"

"It really doesn't matter Dean."

"Doesn't ma…" Was this guy insane?

"Look, its done okay. We drop it, and Kane isn't coming back. You _have_ to stop pushing with this."

"Kane's gone? He's just going to leave us alone. After everything, after all that effort… Oh God… What did you have to give him to get him to back off?"

Sam was looking at him now, sadly. "Not as much as I was expecting," he admitted with a rueful smile. "And certainly nowhere near as much as you were going to give." He turned away again to signal the end of the conversation. Dean would have grabbed him right then to let him know they were nowhere near finished, but he had momentarily lost all feeling in his limbs. Everything had gone suddenly numb, like he'd had a two second out of body experience and when he came crashing back in again it brought out pins and needles everywhere. Even places he hadn't thought it possible to get them.

Oh course Kane hadn't sat back and done nothing while he'd got Dean out pacing that field. Of course Sam would not have been able to free himself without there being considerably more evidence of it in their room. The exhaustion, the shower, the nightmares… they were making more sense that Dean had ever wanted them to.

"God, I'm going to kill him."

"No you're not." He said it too patiently, with just the wrong degree of humouring him for Dean to continue the conversation in anything close to a calm manor.

"You think I'm just going to sit back and let him get away with this. With…" He had no idea what it was he was supposed to be sitting back and allowing to have happened. Whether it would have any long reaching effects. But Sam had done it to buy _his_ freedom, and with extreme effort of will he would he would break off the screaming and the violence until he had ascertained whether Sam was alright.

"Sam…" He reached out with the intention of reassuring himself that his brother was still standing, was still solid, to make him look him in the eye. If he would just tell him he was okay then while Dean would not completely believe it, he might still be able to keep a little of the panic at bay. But maybe Sam was remembering the last time Dean had reached out to him while angry, because his reaction was the closet thing to bolting Dean had ever seen. Sam seemed unable to decide whether he wanted his arms outstretched guarding or hugging himself for the extra security, but from the look on Dean's face as he moved away Sam seemed to cotton on to the fact Dean had not been advancing because he was mad, but because he was worried.

Even so Sam had developed a strange bounce to his movements, as though ready to dodge out of the way at a moments notice. Dean had seen his brother when he was laughing, when he was crying, through puppy love and when he was in a towering rage. He had seen him through a coma but he had never seen Sam skittish before. Dart away from his attentions. And that hurt as much as anything Kane had put him through, but he took comfort in the knowledge the merchant would die for it.

"I'm okay, just…" he was holding his hand out again to ward off Dean's approach, and the 'don't touch me' didn't need to be able to make it past his mouth because it was all in his eyes. But there was apology and acceptance in them too and Dean knew that Sam didn't not want him near him because of anything Dean had done. He remembered again the early morning shower, took in the way Sam was now rubbing his arms as though he wanted to remove an outer layer of skin, get out of his own body for a while. And he knew it had nothing to do with him touching Sam, it was about Sam not wanting to touch Dean. To contaminate him with this more than he already had last night, when he had been too tired, acting too on instinct to have been thinking clearly.

"You have to tell me what happened."

Sam didn't look at all like he believed that sentence, but he answered with a semi-positive none the less.

"I know. But I can't right now. I know it's… Please, you have to calm down, and you have to back off, and you have to at least let Kane _feel_ like he's being given some space to work, because I really don't want to have to do this again. Okay." Dean didn't know how he could sound so calm and patient, like he was explaining something incredibly obvious, but maybe that was the only way he _could_ view it without being pushed over his emotional edge. Down into the void Dean was hovering over. Sam had done what he had to do to remove the threat that had been pressing down on Dean for what felt like so long now. End of story. They moved on. But Dean wasn't sure if he could do that. That Kane had got near Sam was galling enough. Not doing something about it felt too much like conceding a victory.

If Sam had been speaking for Kane last night when he'd said he wanted to be left alone, allowed to set up a new operation in peace, then he supposed it made sense that he would want to give them an incentive not to track them. What didn't make sense to Dean was that Sam would take it. Would want nothing in the way of Kane and the ability to mass produce.

"How can you sit back and let...?"

"I'm not saying we should. I'm not…" Sam closed his eyes, seeking the right words. But it didn't seem he could find them, because when he opened his eyes again it was to ask: "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." It was automatic but it was true. He knew Sam didn't always tell him everything, but when it came down to it that wasn't the same thing. He trusted Sam with his life, literally, every day.

"Then let's just wait until we've dealt with McAlister and have our car back before we do anything that might upset Kane, okay?"

"But…"

"Dean… Please." Sam's eyes were wide and beseeching, willing Dean to understand. He opened his mouth to say something more but Sam tensed his jaw and shook his head, and almost twenty four years of reading his brother, of communicating without words, clicked painfully into place.

"Okay." Sam relaxed slightly and nodded his head to Dean's silent question. They really couldn't talk about this now. _At all_. Sam's eyes appreciated how badly Dean needed to ask, but they also let him know clearly that nothing good would come of it if he did. And Dean suddenly felt overwhelmingly sick. But he knew what Sam was asking. He wanted to keep a low profile until they could run. They _would _be better off not facing off with him again until they had a strategy in place for defeating him. But then, Sam didn't know how easy it would be for Kane to track them again. That it was Dean that was endangering them both, every moment he spent in his brother's company.

There was a part of Dean that wanted them both to remain tucked away in the motel until the Impala was ready to be collected, but Sam was adamant that they continue with the hunt. He seemed to be convinced that they could go about their business unmolested.

They gathered together all the material that needed returning to the library and set off down the now familiar path into town, only decided to stop in the first café they found for one of the undefined meals that was their speciality while on the road – much too late for breakfast, but they hadn't really been awake long enough for it to be lunch.

Since Sam's plan was to got back to the library and, as it seemed to hold every piece of paper the town had ever produced, try to find out what had become of the McAlister estate on his death, while Dean's plan was to burn anything in the school that looked to be over a hundred years old, back to the library it was. They couldn't do the burning thing until after nightfall, and there was always the possibility that they might find something during the day that would make the mass destruction unnecessary, although in truth Dean was kind of looking forwards to the release it might give.

They were tucked away at a table in the corner, and Dean was too relieved by the fact that Sam had obviously got his appetite back from whatever had been ailing him the night before (contemplating which only brought his own nausea back to the forefront of his mind) to spare a though for anything else. So it was a while before either of them picked up on the fact anything was wrong.

The atmosphere was too tense for a sleepy Monday lunchtime. But they weren't left to wonder about it for too long. It seemed that a man had been attacked making his way through the quieter area of town only a few hours previously. And again, the attack had been interrupted, the man helped to safety by a passing witness before excessive damage had been inflicted.

"That's twice in three days." Sam commented uneasily. "It's still got over three weeks to go; it doesn't usually keep striking this frequently."

"It doesn't usually leave witnesses either. Maybe it's making up for lost time. I got the last guy out before things got too heavy, maybe it feels like it's got some catching up to do."

"If that's true and it's been interrupted again…"

"It's probably getting a might pissed off my now." Dean finished for him. "It might not be ready to kill until the 21st but I think we really do need to figure something out tonight, stop it from striking again."

Even if they hadn't been able to piece together the fact there had been another attack from the conversation the waitresses were having at the counter, the arrival of Martha Bilic, the owner of the general store, was enough to put all their doubts aside, and stop them from having to admit that they had been eavesdropping.

Unfortunately it also put Dean in a bit of a quandary.

Martha had been eager to find him so she could help provide him with the information to aid in writing his article, and as news travelled fast in this town she was aware they were now without a car. She was enthusiastic about the idea of driving Dean to the hospital so he could talk to this latest victim, partially a peace offering for his getting knocked out cold in the line of duty, but also, he sensed, because each new eye witness they found could only validate her claims. The brothers had already come to the conclusion that very little could be gained from such an interview. It was unlikely this new victim could tell them anything they didn't already know, and finding the source of the spirit's power was surely their priority. But Dean could hardly explain that to the woman, who didn't seem prepared to take no for an answer. She even offered to drive him back to the motel so he could pick up his camera and other reported type equipment, and stop off at the scene of the attack on the way so he could do some investigating.

The main source of the quandary came from the fact Sam flat out refused to go with him. He didn't say as much out loud obviously, it was all in his eyes, and Dean got the alarming impression that the invitation had only been designed for one. There was no point in both of them wasting the day on this pointless errand, but after his scare of last night, the revelations he was still churning through from this morning, Dean was beyond reluctant to let Sam out of his sight for any reason. For a waste of time reason, he might just implode.

But Sam was right. One of them needed to get some work done, to try and limit the mass arson that Dean had been keen to embark on. And Sam would be in a library, he would be tucked away, and he would be safe, and Dean would meet him back at the motel as fast as was humanly possible. And if Sam's response to Dean's elaborate eyebrow raising was anything to go by, be did not seem to be concerned that Kane would make an appearance while they were apart.

In the war between his Sam protection instincts and humouring a random woman there was really no contest, only she resorted to the underhand tactic of hailing him as a hero to the steadily filling room, and having him listed to them all express their thanks that he was looking into and taking seriously the town's problems. It had not escaped his notice that the crowd gathering around their table was made up exclusively of middle-aged women, or that Sam had somehow been pushed to the back of this crowd with a bemused expression after he had been foolish enough to leave his seat to go to the counter to pay. Sam was watching the proceedings with increasingly hilarity, and after the owner of the café, or more accurately his wife, insisted that their food was on the house because of their actions (she gave the money back to Dean not Sam he noted with amusement) Dean felt like he didn't really have a choice.

But he'd be damned if this was going to be an entirely wasted day. If he would be away from Sam for this long and achieve nothing of worth. The attack was so recent that there were still police milling about the scene, and he spent a mindless hour making small talk, asking ridiculous questions he couldn't have cared les about the answers to. The time spent in the hospital was exhausting, and not at all conductive to his mood, and provided no more useful information that he'd walked in with. He was going to take _something_ useful away from today.

So he called Bobby.

He was fairly certain that putting a whole mess of hunters back on Kane's tail might fall under Sam's definition of 'pissing him off', but what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Dean needed to feel as though he had done something useful with this day. That he hadn't again left Sam to sit in that dark and airless room and do the majority of the groundwork himself. And he would not let Sam take the full force of attention from Kane. Would not let the merchant think he could get near Sam again without paying a heavy price.

Dean would never admit how good it was to hear Bobby's voice. He would not go into details, now was not the time or the place. He kept the conversation brief, barely giving the other man time to respond before he was signing off, because saying Kane's name while pacing these sterile corridors was almost more than Dean could handle. He would call and fill him in properly when he had a better idea himself what was going on, but he could already feel as though that simple action had calmed him.

One day he would be able to smell the generic hospital scent, listen to the bustle of passing nurses and doctors without his mind straying to either his father or Sam. Somehow being here alone was worse than he had anticipated. With no Sam chattering away at his side it was too easy to fantasise a reason why. Even when he had been unconscious Sam had been within his line of sight and the realm of his touch. He had to fight the urge to ring him just to see if he was okay. To check he was not feeling any adverse side affects from god knows what. That he didn't somehow blame Dean for it as much as he blamed himself. Under the pretence of checking he was having a more productive day, of course.

But Sam would see through that, so he would keep his silence for a while longer.

00000000000000000000

Sam's friendly librarian was back on duty and seemed pleased to see him, and even more pleased that he had already managed to make his way through his stash so quickly. She might have thought his request odd but she was used to him by now, so pointed him to the right part of the neighbouring records office to find court archives that might show what had become of the McAlister effects.

The records were fairly straight forward. The house had been school property and most of the large items of furniture had stayed there, and it was unlikely a wardrobe or a bed had ever made their way into the school anyway. He made a list of the few small items that could possibly have made the transition but it didn't look promising, and he was becoming increasingly tempted by Dean's 'burn everything' approach.

He was just putting the records away and preparing to leave when the librarian made an appearance. She had not failed to notice his fascination with the McAlister family, and had somehow managed to dig up an old collection of historic photographs and sketches relating to the town. She had obviously been keen to show him these for a while, and had page marked each picture that related to the family in some way.

He might have wanted nothing but to get back out into the fresh air but this woman had been good to him, and he was too polite to decline the offer of an explanation behind each and every picture in the book. He couldn't help but smile at how keen to be involved everyone had suddenly become now that the motor festival was out of the way. It really was like an entirely different town.

The majority showed the family at town events, back in the days when it had been whole; a young woman with her stern looking older husband, and looking at the distance between them even as they stood side by side Sam couldn't help but think that had been a disaster waiting to happen.

He was being talked through town fetes and school processions and local saints day celebrations at such a rate that even he was beginning to lose the ability to focus on her words, which was perhaps the only reason he saw it. In every single one of the pictures she was in, little Alison McAlister was clutching the same teddy bear to her chest. It seemed that she rarely went anywhere without it. Was it possible she had died with it in her arms too? And with a sudden jolt of understanding Sam remembered two things at once. The original news report he had read on McAlister's suicide had stated he'd been holding his daughter's bear when he'd gone over the balcony, and that stupid clown doll that had amused his brother so much when they'd been searching the upstairs classroom. Or, not so much the clown doll but its position on the shelf; smack between the porcelain doll from hell and the decrepit looking teddy bear. The same bear he was staring at in the pictures in front of him, just warped now with age and use. And he knew with a certainty that this was what he had been looking for.

It had probably been present at both deaths; maybe there really was no way of telling which spirit had imbued it. Maybe it was merely reacting to the wealth of violence it had witnessed. School would be ending in a couple of hours, but even so it probably wouldn't be safe to head in until after dark. But he was so close now. He would have to walk past the gates.

He finally managed to escape the attentions of the over eager librarian and did just that, hovering on the perimeter. It was like torture, to have the end within his sight, but he knew that he had to hold off. He couldn't set fire to the toy with children in the classroom, and he was fairly sure Dean would have a thing or two to say about it if he finished the job unsupervised. And burning was Dean's favourite part.

It was terrifying to think of the number of children that must have held that bear. How many must have loved it to get it into that state, and all that time there had been something evil living inside it. All those generations of care had done nothing to counteract the monster lurking within. In fact if anything, it had only grown stronger.

With a sigh he turned away to make his way back to the motel. He had no idea how long it would take Dean to be able to break free of his fan club. He bought some coffee to keep him occupied on the walk back, a magazine to pass the time back in their room, and contemplated ringing Dean to tell him what he'd found, thinking it might make the time pass more easily for him if he knew there was nothing more important he should be doing with it. He was tempted to call with a fake emergency to give him the opportunity to escape, but thought he'd better not interrupt on the off chance he was actually doing something important.

If he hadn't been holding coffee in one hand and had his phone out in his other, splitting his attention between the two, it was possible he would have felt it sooner. Had more time, been able to do something other than freeze, raise his head and issue a brief curse of frustration before he was flying sideways into a chain link fence, bouncing violently against the rusting structure before crashing to the ground. After that he didn't have time for anything at all, had barely even hit the floor before the blows started coming.

Chest, stomach, face. It was just like Melissa had described it, thick and fast and with no way of anticipating where they were coming from. Where they would strike next.

_I saw you at the school._

It was more inside his head than out, burning as badly as the blows. The force of them rolled him, sent him sailing back into the fence, tattered broken edges digging into his shoulders, tearing gouges out of his flesh as his body shifted and moved with every impact. He cried out, but while the sound echoed in the deserted side street it did nothing to block out the voice ringing in his ears. _I saw you watching her. I won't let you take her this time._

His arms were in front of his face, shielding it from the worst of the blows. He had given up trying to use them to raise himself up, to get away, to fight back. There was nothing to fight. It was everywhere. It invaded his senses. Made his skin tingle. He could only hope that it would leave him numb. That the energy it created would absorb the worst of the blows, but from the sudden sharp impact to his stomach that left him gasping and winded, he knew that wouldn't be the case.

And he knew that riding it out was not an option. It had left Melissa Harper unconscious for close to 12 hours. He had no idea what sate the most recent victim was in, but if this thing had been interrupted again that did not bode well for him. Especially not here. The street was deserted. The thing had timed this well; thrown him between a dumpster and the fence, out of sight of the road he could hear but could not see. The traffic noise was too loud, his position too far away. He didn't want to waste his energy on shouting when it was doubtful he would ever be heard. When the effort that required was becoming increasingly more difficult to come by. Would perhaps be better spent on something more important, like breathing. If he was going to get out of this he had to do it himself. And since his vision was starting to blur and he was vaguely aware that he was coughing up blood, he figured he would have to do whatever it was he was going to do sooner rather than later.

But he was out of options. He couldn't see this thing to shoot it even if he had been packing the right stuff, and he couldn't reach behind him for his gun if his life depended on it. Which hopefully it didn't. This thing was angry, no doubt about that, but he didn't think that would be enough to make it break a 100 year pattern. He tried to hold onto that, but it was hard when he was fairly certain he had just heard his arm break.

He had nothing else he could use to stop it. Nothing to keep this thing at bay.

_Might hold the spirit off for the short term if it decides to get nasty with us._

With shaking fingers he tried to snake his way into his back pocket, tried to roll so his back, his bloody shoulders were taking the brunt of the blows, because with one arm out of commission and the other seeking Dean's charm his face was open and exposed for a beating.

He'd never before believed his own hip could feel that far away but his hand finally made it, fumbling to find the opening, praying that he hadn't lost it, that he hadn't in some blind moment of insanity taken it out. That it might actually work for something other than soothing Dean's paranoia.

His fingers closed over the cool surface of the Hessian and the reaction was instantaneous. The world fell silent. The attack ended with less warning than when it had begun. The reigning violence just suddenly ceased, the whispering voices, the tingling skin. The street was exactly as it was when he'd entered it.

He pulled the bag fully out of his pocket with shaking fingers and held it up to his face, breathing deep the pungent scent of it. He had not expected it to work; at least not that completely. But the relief was not fortifying. It didn't allow him to pull himself together and move on. Instead it just made him aware how appealing and how completely unavoidable the gathering blackness had become. He shifted slightly in an attempt to stand, and the pain that accompanied that move made the decision for him. He drifted into unconsciousness, hand subconsciously tightening on the charm it held, knowing it would be the only thing that would allow him to surface again any time soon.

00000000000000000

Sam came back to himself slowly, twitching gently, the action grazing his cheek on the concrete where it rested, the pain of it bringing his mind more alert as it brought into sharper focus the pain in the rest of his body.

It was an effort to raise his head, to try to push back the throbbing, pulsing blackness that threatened to return, the nausea of movement, and he was suddenly aware that he was shaking, that he was bleeding, that he was broken and bruised.

He used his hands to pry himself from the pavement, bloody fingers rapping through the wire links of the fence, dragging himself into a sitting position, he pain in his left arm when he moved it excruciating, reminding him never to attempt to move it again.

He shifted slightly until he was leaning with his back against the fence, sinking into its support, eyes closed, trying to order his breathing, conquer the nausea and the pain. Stop the shaking that was vibrating his bones. Trying to quell the fear that was threatening to break him.

His good hand closed around the wire behind him, gripping it tight. Sharp edges dug into his skin but he didn't care. The pain of it grounded him, was more immediate than the dull aching that was beginning to spread throughout the rest of his body, helped him to focus his mind. He banged his head a couple of times on the wire meshing beneath it, relishing the jingling sound, trying to clear his head, to remind him of the here and now.

This job was supposed to be the answer. Was supposed to deflect attention away from Kane and onto something practical and useful and fixable. Something he could do right, that would not cause Dean to worry. Why could he not even do that right? Why could he not for even a moment deflect the attention of everything and everyone away from himself? Why was it that he had never once stopped to consider, once thought to prepare himself in the safety of the car or security of a motel room just what exactly the return to hunting entailed? Why it made Dean so anxious. Why the sight of him out cold on that shop floor had scared Sam so much.

He had spent a month lying on a bed in a drug filled haze, and the majority of the time since then had not been much more eventful. With the exception of the encounter with Kane he had barely been alone for almost 6 months. Dean had always been there to provide constant hovering support, and there had been Bobby in the background and the extra security he brought, and a puppy to cling to, to lose himself in the warmth of whenever the world got too much. He had been sheltered, and he had grown reliant on that fact. He had wanted to return to the hunt, he had wanted to prove himself physically able, but it wasn't the physical reaction that was failing him now.

He had thought he had been ready, so why did it take him sitting in pain on the floor leaning against a dumpster, unable to get the shaking under control, to make him rethink that assessment? The first time he had been injured and the first time he had been truly alone since the last time he had been lying on the floor in an alley bleeding, and the blood was on his hands and his lips and he could taste it and God it hurt just to breath and he knew how damn fragile this stupid body could be and how long it took to heal and oh god the look on Dean's face because he had left him… For barely any time at all but he had left him…

He'd wanted his independence. Wanted to not feel like a weight around his brother's neck, but he had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Dean to be here right now. To wipe away these stupid tears. To clean the blood from his hands. To make him warm again.

He remembered again what had distracted him in the first place. The urge to call his brother. He would hardly have to fake an emergency now, but he didn't think he could find his voice yet. But to just hear Dean on the other side of the phone would be enough. Even if it was to hear him screaming with anxiety at Sam's lack of an answer. Just the thought of the echoing reassurance of his brother's tone in his head, just the fantasy of his concern was enough to push Sam's paralysis away. To get him to breathe deeply, to wipe the panicked tears from his eyes and get his body and mind under some kind of control. Because he would not fall apart now. He had not done so in the past, and this was nothing compared with that.

All the concern and protective tone he could imagine in his brother's voice would not be enough to wipe away the underlying fear and failure he would also hear. He would not face Dean until he could manage his own fears first. Until he could at least fake some kind of control.

Breathing deeply he got a better grip on the panic. Shifting tentatively he assessed the damage. He was badly beaten and he was sore but he breathed through the pain, and with the exception of his arm, which may or may not be broken, it was not bad enough to keep him hear. To justify letting his mind let go.

Slowly he dragged himself to his feet with a wince. He had retrieved his phone from where it had fallen beside him. The face was cracked and he didn't have to go to the effort of checking to know that he wouldn't have been able to reach Dean on it if he'd tried.

He took a few tentative steps. He felt shaky but his legs would hold him. They had escaped with little damage. He hurt but he could walk. There was still at least a mile to go but really, he had little other choice.

He tried to clean himself up as best he could. To mop the blood on the dark fabric of his clothes. He did not think that it was still flowing, and the road out of town had always been quiet; he should be able to make it back to the motel unmolested. He just hoped that Dean had not returned yet. That he could clean himself up a little before he had to face him, because as much as he needed Dean with him right now, Dean needed to not see Sam more. He knew how utterly freaked out Dean would be at the sight of him. He was going to freak out anyway, but Sam would try to minimise the reaction as best he could.

He kept his head down and took the quietest route back to the motel. Walking was painful and time consuming but got surprisingly easier, as though he was working through the bruises and strain on his muscles. He just wanted to sleep, but he knew that wasn't an option. He just wanted to be without every joint aching, but that was starting to be the norm again.

He wasn't sure which Dean he wanted; whether it was security he needed, or the offer of comfort without the accompanying guilt. He wanted his other Dean to lick his hand and rest his head in Sam's lap and show him that he at least didn't care whether or not Sam could run or shoot or fight. As long as he has the strength and the energy to tickle his ears effectively then that was enough for him. A life without demands. He knew that Dean made no demands on him, not really, but sometimes the expectations could be even more unbearable, because it was hard to know exactly where they'd been pitched until you've already fallen short.

He finally made it back, fumbling with the lock, both disappointed and relieved that Dean was not lying on his bed waiting for him to return.

Now he had stopped moving his muscles were beginning to cramp and the pain was upping its attack. He didn't think a trip to the hospital would be necessary, at least he hoped not. His arm still hurt but it had some feeling back, and he could wiggle his fingers with only the slightest hissing intake of breath. It was possible the bone was badly bruised as appose to flat out broken.

He peeled himself out of his jacket, groaning as he had to de-stick the material from the blood on his shoulders and back. He kicked off his shoes – no way was he bending over to remove them – and hobbled his way into the bathroom.

Sam cursed when he took a look at himself in the mirror. He could wash the blood off his skin and out of his hair but there was no way he could conceal how bad this had been. If Dean laid eyes on him any time in the next two weeks he wouldn't fail to see it.

He'd just started to run a bath, hoping the water would do something to sooth the aches if it couldn't reduce the bruises, when he heard the motel door opening.

He sighed. Should he go out and face Dean now or pretend he was already in the water, buy them both some peace?

He'd left his torn and bloodstained jacket in the middle of the floor. There would be no peace to be gained by remaining hidden. He was surprised Dean wasn't already pounding on the door to find out what the hell was going on.

"It's not as bad as it looks." Sam pre-empted in a horse whisper as he peered around the bathroom door. Only it wasn't Dean he found standing in the room holding his bloodstained jacket up to their face.

"Oh, I'm afraid it's exactly as bad as it looks."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: still the same.

Hmmm, it's possible this chapter would have been more effective if you hadn't already seen Sam's version of his day, because then you would be discovering things along with Dean and not be able to second guess his train of thought, but it's too late for that now. And the last chapter could hardly have been slotted in after this one.

**Chapter Ten**

Numerous things became obvious the instant Dean stepped through the door. He could hear the sound of the bath running. He almost slipped on the saturated carpet the second his feet crossed the threshold. There was a thin layer of standing water covering the entire room. Damp unwashed motel carpet was among the most unpleasant scents Dean had ever experienced.

And Sam was gone.

Apart from the water the room looked untouched. Was no different from when they had left it. It was only later that Dean would notice some of the subtle differences – a partially overturned lamp, the bloodstained taps. These were initially invisible in the face of that one other glaring fact.

Sam was gone.

He'd been here, because who the hell else would have set the bath running? Who the hell else would have left their shoes in the middle of the floor, damp now and poignantly alone in the empty room?

"Sam!" he called out, struggling through the squelching carpet, through the dread that was slowly consuming him. The bathroom door was open and light played out from within. "Sam!" Louder this time but he didn't know why. The last thing Dean expected was an answer.

Easing himself around the door he entered the bathroom. He turned off the water, the sudden silence only highlighting the thing the room lacked. For the first time in his life Dean was actually praying he had walked in and found Sam unconscious on the bathroom floor, because anything was preferable to this. To the simply not being here.

The water problem dealt with as best as he could for the time being Dean found himself pacing the room. He had absolutely no clue what to do next. The immediate urge was to run back out into the parking lot and start screaming Sam's name until he got a response of some kind, but it wouldn't be the one he wanted. The amount of water that was in the room meant Sam had not been here for some time. Which meant he was a lot further away than Dean could shout for him.

He was taking deep breaths, trying to think, trying not to concentrate on the scent of carpet that was assaulting him with every inhale. There was no sign of a struggle, which meant either Sam had gone willingly, or whatever altercation had taken place, had taken place outside the room. Or perhaps Sam had simply fled.

But if he could have, he would have alerted Dean that there was something wrong.

He tried calling but there was no answer. The phone didn't even ring; he just got an automated message telling him the cell he was calling was out of range, which was ridiculous because unless he'd hopped on a jet he could not have got far.

It was that thought that got Dean moving again. He could not have got far. But every second he stood here debating with himself was another second in which his brother's trail went cold.

Sam was not here, so he turned his attention instead to outside.

The door did not look forced and the protective measures he'd placed the night before were mostly still in place. Those that hadn't dissolved, adding to the smell. But like Sam had said, he doubted Kane would have been stopped by a line of salt. Or by a locked door for that matter if he'd wanted in.

The car park was almost deserted. Dean paced it but there was nothing to see. No skid marks, no sign of a struggle, no bloodstains (thank god) but no clue at all, intentional or otherwise, as to where Sam could have gone.

The motel was low tech. There was no security. No CCTV. Hardly any other guests. They had no neighbours. So Dean went to the one person who could have possibly seen or heard that there was anything wrong.

The motel owner seemed surprised to hear that Sam was not in their room. He'd seen him go in less than an hour before, and while he hadn't exactly been spying, he hadn't noticed him leave. On the plus side Dean could now begin to establish some kind of a timeline, know what kind of a head start he was up against. But the news that Sam had not been walking well, had looked to be limping, was not something he could take as well. Nor the fact there had apparently been no car, no figures, no noises out of the ordinary. Because while Kane might have the occasional trick up his sleeve he was still a man, and he needed to believe it was Kane that had taken his brother, because the alternative did not bare thinking about.

If Kane had Sam; if a straight trade was what he'd had in mind then Dean had seven, no six, hours to track them down. Sam had done it. Sam had done it while he was in a much less capable state than Dean was in now.

Back in the room he called directory enquiries, then called the library in town. He wanted as much information about his brother's day as he could acquire. Sam had been out of the library by two. He had been alone the entire time. But it had taken him almost two hours to get back to the motel.

And sitting on Dean's bed was part of the reason why.

He hadn't noticed it at first. He's already come to terms with the fact it was Sam's bed he checked, never his own, and it had never occurred to him that he might need to. But there, laid carefully on top of the covers in a parody of lifefullness, was Sam's jacket. The one he had been wearing the last time Dean had seen him.

If there had ever been any doubt that Sam had not been alone in the room, this dispelled it. There was simply no way Sam would have placed it there. Arranged it so neatly. That the thought would ever have occurred to him, and it took Dean by surprise how much the sight of it hurt. How horribly empty it looked with no-one to fill it.

He didn't want to touch it at first, didn't want to break the illusion. And as soon as he picked it up it was obvious how badly it was marked and torn. The bloodstained gashed in his brother's shoulder, the crumpled stains. The signs of a struggle that up until then had been lacking. He had known Kane was still here and he had left his brother alone. Sam had told him it would be okay, would not have let him go if he didn't genuinely believe that, because everything about his demeanour this morning had told Dean he really didn't want to have to encounter Kane again before it was necessary. So what had happened for Sam to have read the situation so wrong? What had happened in the space of the three hours they had been apart that would have caused Kane to rethink the whole 'leaving each other alone' truce?

Dean had called Bobby.

Dean closed his eyes, allowed himself one moment to let the fear wash over him. The failure. He had done nothing useful with this day. He had bended to the will of strangers, and he had led Kane to them and stood aside.

One moment to feel it, the overwhelming panic, but then he pushed it away. He held his brother's jacket in his hands, he rubbed his blood between his fingers, held his warmth, absorbed it, took the strength of it into himself. His hatred of Kane, his need to put this right were stronger for now than his sense of failure, the fear of what his brother was facing. This would be the last moment of weakness Dean would allow himself until Sam was safe within his grasp, because now more than ever his brother needed him to be strong.

He put the jacket gently back onto the bed and took in the rest of the room. If that had been here and he hadn't seen it, what else was the room concealing? He searched it thoroughly for every clue. It was only then that he saw the bloody fingerprints in the bathroom. On the taps by the sink, at the side of the bath. The streaks of it on a wash cloth where Sam had obviously tried to wipe himself down.

Sam had been hurt before he'd got back to the room. He'd removed his shoes and his jacket and started to run a bath. Dean didn't know why that affected him as much as it did, but perhaps it was the simple fact that Sam had believed himself safe.

And he had been taken from the security he had sought. Hurt and bleeding with no shoes, then even if he had run he would not have got far.

Sam's phone had fallen out of his jacket pocked when Dean had placed it back on the bed. Its surface was broken. Was smeared with bloody finger prints. His lifeline. His link to Sam. The one thing that enabled him to keep watch from afar, and it had failed him. He knew that Sam had held this in his hands after whatever had happened to him. If it could talk to him it could tell him of his brother's pain and fear. But it hadn't worked. At probably the moment when Sam had needed it the most, it hadn't worked.

He was starting to feel overwhelmed again, and he blamed the sudden onset of nausea on the wet carpet smell. There was nothing for him here. He needed to get out of this room. He needed to know more about his brother's day. Retrace his steps. Try and make sense of what had happened to him. Finding out what was happening _now_ might have been more useful but Dean still wasn't ready to contemplate that and function, and this wasn't a matter of simple logic. Dean _needed_ to know. But also, if someone had seen him, seen anything suspicious, if someone had caught even a glimpse of Kane, he needed to know where. If someone could tell him what car he was using then tracking him would be so much easier. Not that Dean would be able to sneak up on Kane; the merchant knew exactly where he was.

But before he could do any of those things he needed a car. Kane had planned this well.

He was loathed to have to ask, to spread this problem onto anyone else, to accept that maybe he couldn't do this without aid, but this was more important than his pride.

In all the years that he had owned this motel, Dean didn't think anyone had ever stumbled through his doors worried and breathless and asking to borrow his car. If he hadn't seen Kane for himself, hadn't been suspicious of the other man's demeanour, then he would probably have refused, especially after having learnt that Dean's definition of causing no trouble had not included flooding out their room. But Dean was obviously barely concealing his distress, and Sam had been limping, and on taking one look at the room and the blood stained towels it was all Dean could do to get him not to call the police then and there. Dean was tempted to let him, but against Kane there was not much they could do.

He was able to contain his frustration and take the drive into town slow, checking the roadside for any signs of a struggle. He parked by the library and went in, but Sam had left no clue for him inside. No hint that he suspected he was being followed.

He set off from there on foot, following the route Sam would have taken.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, and he really wished he had not. He had known Sam had been hurt, had seen evidence of that in their room, but standing in the spot where it had happened, breathing it in…

He could see it all too clearly. He had seen his fair share of this kind of scene, he could piece together the events behind it with a clarity he wished he never had, because it was Sam this had happened to. Sam's drink that had rolled from his hand, shattered fragments of his brother's phone screen that were lying nearby, and he knew Sam had been taken by surprise. Had probably not even had a chance to defend himself before it had begun.

He found a pool of blood at the base of the fence that froze him; he had not expected there to be so much; but any of Sam's blood spilt was too much. The colour of it burned his eyes and he had to look away, to blink back the pressure building behind them that was threatening at last to overflow.

He could see the scraps of fabric still clinging to the tufts of wire, the explanation behind the cuts in his brother's clothes, behind the blood that smeared the metal.

He had seen this before. Not far from here and earlier this same day. The whole scene was almost identical to the site of the attack he'd been viewing after he'd left Sam in the café. Only this one had no yellow tape or crawling police officers. This one had not been interrupted. Sam had been alone.

He had seen what his thing had done to Melissa when it had been allowed free reign. He had seen what it had done to the man this morning when it had been interrupted, and he had felt for himself the power behind each blow.

But Sam had made it back. He had walked back to the motel unaided. He had somehow got away, he had been hobbling, but he had been able to stand. Able to tend to himself, and Dean had to cling on to that fact for all he was worth because the blood and the memory of those bruises and that hospital were just too much to take in.

He asked around but no-one had seen or heard anything. He hadn't expected that they would have. Hadn't believed for a moment that anyone could have witnessed the state Sam was no doubt in and allowed him to wander away unaided. Would not have driven him to the hospital on sight, straight to where Dean was unintentionally waiting.

But maybe there had been a witness. What if Kane had seen? What if he had known? What if he had seen a chance that was too good to pass up on, to approach Sam while he was at his most vulnerable, while there was less chance he would have been able to fight back?

If that was true then Dean hated Kane with a passion he would never have believed possible, because not only had he not lifted a finger to help, but he had allowed Sam to make it back to the security of their room before approaching him. Had given him those first few blissful moments of peace, to let his guard down even further in the belief that he was finally safe.

He didn't care what Sam had told him, what Bobby's contacts alleged. What Kane himself had tried to have Dean believe… there was no honour in that. And maybe it would be for that, more than any other reason, that Dean would not only not rest until he had Sam safely back within his reach, but until he had watched Kane die. And if Dean had anything to do with it, and he sincerely hoped that he did, then it would not be easy and it would not be quick, and it would make what Kane had threatened to have Sam endure look like mercy.

By the time Dean made it back to the car his fists were clenched so tight his nails were drawing blood.

How had Kane got Sam from their room to wherever they had gone without any sign of a struggle? Sam was trashed yes, but he would not simply have gone with him; his distaste for what the merchant had already done had made that perfectly clear. That was the part of this – besides its entirety – that bothered Dean the most. Because it made no sense. It was impossible.

But there had been no sulphur in their room, despite the carpets smell. Sam had had no vision, given no warning.

That Dean knew of.

His mind flashed again to the one thing he had never been given an adequate answer for. Why his brother had been in the shower at one in the morning. Why he had suddenly been so tired and so pale. Why he had been so unstable, so drained.

If Sam had been given advanced warning of this, he _would not_ have kept it to himself. Yes, with the spirit and then Kane and Sam's exhaustion and their argument and communication breakdown he would no doubt have been reluctant to pile one more thing on their expanding pile of problems.

But the demon? To conceal the fact the demon was here, was coming for him... there was no way he would have sat back and allowed that to take place.

Right?

Sam's jacket had been laid out with care. Whoever had done this had had time. They could have cleaned the room up. The water would have washed away any subtle signs (and scents, but he would not think about that). Kane had overpowered Dean twice before he'd even had time to acknowledge they were fighting. If he had wanted to take Sam, all the determination in the world would not have stood in his way.

As for getting Sam out… the reception might overlook the front of the motel and the parking lot, but the guy couldn't have been watching every second of the day. And if Kane had parked in the back lot out of sight, then…

Oh, Dean was so stupid.

He was back in the car and heading back to the motel, swinging round into the back lot out of sight. They had a window at the rear of their room that opened onto the back courtyard. As much as he hated the idea of Sam being manhandled out of a window and into a waiting car, Dean never thought he would live to see the day that this was more preferable than the alternative.

Of course, it would have been too easy for there to have been any proof of this. Dean only wished he got the chance to admit to his brother how badly he wanted to find his bloodstained handprint on their window frame. Some sign that Sam had been aware of what was happening around him, thinking clearly enough or had enough faith to have wanted to leave Dean some clue.

Retracing his brother's steps had left him with no leads, and only five hours in which to find Sam alive. If he couldn't use Sam's trail to work out where they had gone, then he would have to follow Kane's, and that would potentially be a lot more hard work. But there was one other thing he needed more, and he hated that it was true. But Sam had done the same thing. Sam had been strong enough to know that he couldn't do this alone. Dean had met Kane and had spoken to him, but he had absolutely no idea how the merchant's mind worked. How he operated. He needed the knowledge of someone who did. He needed to pick up the phone and admit that he hadn't been able to keep his little brother safe by himself for even three weeks.

"Twice in one day, this is a dubious pleasure."

"Hi Bobby... it's Sam…"

"What, does he have some kind of psychic link going on or something, the damn thing's fine. Learnt its lesson about not climbing on the scrap heap, finally, but… oh, just put him on."

"Bobby…"

"Seriously. He hasn't had a chance to pester me in a while. Let me reassure him that while it may be acting as though it's dying, it's just a scratch… You hear that? Quit your whining, you're fine…"

"Bobby…I"

"No, it'll be easier. Just put him on."

"I can't"

"But…"

"Bobby, I can't."

"What happened?"

"Sam's gone." And oh God if saying it out loud didn't make it so much more horribly real.

"What do you mean..?"

"I mean he's gone Bobby!" Shit. Did he really have to make him say it twice? Dean breathed deep and exhaled. This wasn't Bobby's fault. And lashing out wasn't at all helpful. "Sorry. I just… He's gone Bobby, and I don't…" he closed his eyes, trying to block out the mocking empty room, the visual proof of his failure.

Sam had called with a list of information he wanted to know, Bobby had told him as much. Dean didn't want information so much as someone to tell him what to do. He was the one that had lost Sam in the first place, and getting him back was much too important a task to be left in his incapable hands.

"Tell me what happened."

He just had, Sam was gone. What more was there to say?

"Dean. You need to tell me exactly what happened." His tone was slow and deliberate, providing the calm that Dean couldn't feel himself, that would be lacking in him until he got his brother back. But as long as that voice was on the line, as long as he could grip the cool solid force of his phone beneath his fingers, then he could borrow some of the other man's composure. Drown out some of the screaming horror inside himself, focus more clearly on what he needed to do. And he understood more clearly now Sam's own gratitude towards their friend, because he might just set him on his path with the strength to succeed.

He was on a timescale, but Bobby was right. He needed to know everything. Most of it Dean was not particularly keen to admit to, but besides the odd sigh of frustration Bobby knew better than to interrupt. To waste time questioning the decisions they had made. There would be time for that later, but right now the 'what' was more important than the 'why'.

"Kane's been here for a while; he has to have been staying in the area." Dean mused out loud. "If he's got any sense after last time he'll get the hell out of here while he can, because he has to know I'm gonna come after him." And that was another one of the most horrible realisations Dean had ever had to share out loud. He knew as clearly as he knew Sam was not in this room that his brother was no-longer in this town. No-longer in the surrounding area. Was even now probably moving further away from him. And if that was true then Dean was already out of time. With at least two hours head start there was simply no way he would be able to catch up with them in time. Unless…

"You gave Sam a list of hideouts. Locations where Kane had been sighted, known to operate from. Are any of those...?"

"Dean… You're in the wrong state. Kane doesn't have any known bases there, any allies or associates, any sightings at all because… Dean, he shouldn't even be there. He shouldn't even be alive. He's been a creature of habit his entire career but this… There's no precedent. Dean…"

"Don't say it." It was a whisper but it stopped the other man in his tracks, the sheer weight of it. The pain it carried. But Bobby would never have said it. Never have voiced out loud what they were both thinking. Kane had been invisible for the last three months. The only way anyone would see him was if he wanted to be found. And it didn't take a genius to figure out that as long as he had Sam, or pretty much for the rest of time, Dean would be the last person Kane wanted to give away his location to.

"He has to have been staying somewhere in the area. And he has to have a car. Both of these things can be traced." Dean _needed_ to believe there was a practical lead he could be following. Needed to believe that if he was to see out the day. "I'm gonna hit every motel, campsite, lodging house, anything in the area he could conceivably have been using as a base. I'm guessing Kane wouldn't rough it unless there was any other alternative. I'll hit them and see but I'm gonna need a list of every building within an hour's radius of this place that's been rented within the last two weeks. I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing. This guy is a human being. He eats, he sleeps and he buys gas, and if he's done any of those things in the last week I want to know about it."

"Dean, tell me where you're staying."

"No. Bobby, I need you to do this."

"No, you need another pair of eyes and ears on the ground. And as for your list Dean, seriously, what do you think I've been doing all day. And I'm not the only one looking into this. Kane's made a lot of people feel plenty stupid by keeping off the radar for so long. Some of these guys have had their eye on his for years. If he's getting his stuff up and running again they know what to look for. If there's something to see I promise you they'll see it."

He was not the only one looking. Dean held onto that fact like it was the most beautiful sound his ears had ever heard, repeated it to himself over and over in the face of every failure. Every motel that did not have any record that Kane had been there, anyone that matched his description. After a couple of attempts Dean's brain kicked in enough to remember the police ID in his wallet that allowed him to stop beating about the bush and just demand the information he wanted, but Bobby had said it himself; there was nothing remarkable in Kane's appearance at all. Dean had sat opposite him, had taken his money, and had never suspected a thing. And even if he had been screaming his presence from the rooftops, with the number of people passing through in the past week, the amount of bustle and trouble each venue had seen, the chances of anyone remembering one man were slim.

A few of the motels has CCTV and he confiscated every video he could find, but even as he did so he knew it was pointless. There were hours of footage to scan through, and his brother quite simply did not have hours left.

Finding Kane's car became Dean's priority, because if he knew what Kane had been driving, could tell what garage he'd stopped at last, use the traffic cameras to work out what direction out of town he had gone… that was the best method Dean had of narrowing the search area from 'the entire world' to a particular corner of it. But no-one had seen Kane or his car, even their own motel guy had never seen a vehicle, and a search on that scale would require more manpower or contacts than Dean could fake.

It was dark by the time Dean made it back to the motel. He'd left the window open and the room had started to air out but the floor was still damp. The owner had tried to move him into another room but Dean wouldn't go. He couldn't. This was the last place he _knew _for sure that Sam had been. The only connection to his brother that Dean had left.

He only headed back to the motel because it was too dark now to hunt for clues; too late for people to remain helpful when he woke them up. Not that that mattered to him. But it was too late to read the map, to read his own notes. The night had dropped cold and his fingers were beginning to numb.

And he had hit every room and gas station he could find.

There were three emails waiting for him on the computer, all from people Dean had never heard of. Bobby had clearly been delegating, and they were sending information through as and when they acquired it. It might be late, but he couldn't just sit here and do nothing. He would rest for just a minute, wait until the room stopped spinning, and then he would head out again.

How had Sam done this? How had Sam been able to focus on anything other than the ticking clock in the corner of their room, or the colour of his brother's blood on the concrete?

His seven hours were up. He had counted down the final one in the Impala while making his way between two especially flee-ridden motels. There was every possibility right now that Sam was already dead. Had died screaming, scared, and alone just like Kane had promised, hour ago now. But Dean couldn't believe it. He wouldn't let himself. And the urgency to find Sam was no less now than it had been when he had stepped into their motel room to be greeted by only empty air and the sound of water flowing. Sam was alive. Dean would surely feel it if he wasn't.

He was sitting on his bed again and Sam's jacket had somehow made it onto his knee. A breeze played in through the still open window and he shivered despite the layers he was wearing. He wondered if Sam was cold, wherever he was. Wondered how much pain he was in from the spirit's attack. If Kane would care, or had already added to it by now.

He wondered briefly how he was possibly going to live with this, knowing that he was a double failure; that there had been two evils lurking in this place and he had let Sam fall prey to them both. He wondered how he would be able to look Bobby in the eye when he got here. How he would ever be able to look Sam in the eye again. How he could ever again offer the assurance that he was safe. That as long as Dean was near, nothing could touch him.

But if he didn't find Sam soon then Dean wouldn't have to live with it. He would not survive that loss again.

He set the jacket aside with a gentleness he still wished that he'd displayed more often with its owner, copied down the information he had been sent, and headed out the door. He would not return until his every new lead had been checked, because if he sat here much longer, if he allowed himself to be still, then he would be no more use to anyone at all.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: Believe me, if I'd suddenly come into possession in the last few days, I would not have kept it quiet until now. Still unofficial.

Hi – whether or not it comes across, the intention was not to make out that Dean is in any way incompetent or weak, but that he perceives _himself_ in this way so doesn't always realise he's doing everything he can in a logical and focused manner.

**Chapter Eleven**

Sam had been missing for 20 hours by the time Bobby pulled into the parking lot of the motel Dean had told him he was staying at. Since the brothers had been meandering almost non stop for two weeks to get here he had made good time, but he had taken the journey in one long direct straight line rather that stopping to hit every settlement en route.

He had called ahead to ensure that Dean was back here to meet him, had not taken no for an answer on the matter.

Dean had made it back before him, had obviously been waiting impatiently for his arrival, because at the first hint of an engine in the forecourt the motel door was open and Dean was striding over to meet him. Bobby only needed to take one look at him to know that he had done the right thing in insisting Dean wait for him here, and even more so in the fact he had taken the time to pick up something to eat as he had passed through town.

Dean already looked pale and worn, like he hadn't stood still, hadn't stopped once since he last time Bobby had spoken to him, and the older man doubted very much that he had. But his handshake was still firm, and after he had thrown aside the initial tremor in his voice, the extra effort needed to clear it before he could speak, he was more together than Bobby had expected. But perhaps that gave Dean too little credit. Yes he was no doubt a wreck at the thought of Sam so long gone, but he would never do anything that might hinder his recovery. So if that meant holding it together when his every nerve must be falling apart, then that was what he would do.

Their reunion was cut short by the sound of claws on glass and an exuberant barking.

"Oh tell me you didn't."

But Bobby's answer to that was to turn and open up the passenger door of his truck, and the squirming ball of muscle colliding with his leg told Dean clearly enough that he had.

"I left in a hurry." Bobby justified, "I didn't have anything else I could do with him at that short notice. I couldn't exactly leave it unsupervised." Bobby complained, but he was avoiding Dean's eye in a way that made him realise this was not the only reason the dog was here, and after everything he had gone through since his brother's disappearance he was surprised how much that effected him.

Bobby had brought Sam his dog back. But it wasn't only a show of faith that they would find him, and Dean was becoming increasingly in need of those, it was an admittance of something more. Sam had made no effort to hide his attachment to the animal, and while they may have teased him about it Dean and Bobby had both known it was a comfort Sam had needed. An extra level of security, something that he could cling to and feel safe, that would not pull away from the reassurance wanted.

Sam had been with Kane for a long time now. Dean would be naïve if he didn't accept that it was likely he would be in need of the same comfort and reassurance now. And as much as he was willing, he no longer believed he had any right to be the one to give them.

But maybe Sam would let him borrow his security blanket until Dean got his own back, not that he had been able to fall asleep with his curled within his reach for a while now, hug it to his chin with the ferocity he sometimes felt he needed to.

"Hey buddy." He knelt down to greet the dog properly, touched by its enthusiastic welcome; that it had considered him worthy of pausing to acknowledge at all, and his heart clenched painfully to think of what he knew was coming. He had agreed to keep the dog around because of its ability to make his brother smile at a time when he would see that all too rarely. It was actually painful to have it in front of him now when his brother was not, because he was trying, but Dean honestly couldn't think of a time when he had seen them apart. Whenever he had seen the dog it had been a sign that his brother was somewhere close by, and he couldn't help but feel inadvertently betrayed that this was not the case now. But he was not the Dean that had been betrayed in this scenario. He was not the one who had relinquished Sam to someone else's protection only to find that they had not been up to the task.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into its fur. Yes, he was aware he was apologising to a dog, but he felt like he owed it something, and it hurt that Sam was not here to tease him for it. That he could picture his brother's words and expression as clearly as though he had been. Then he noticed something on the gangly creature's side. "Look at you, what did you do?" he asked, fingering the thin strip of surgical tape. His mind flicked between the way the cut on the dog's side had been cleaned and treated, and Bobby's disparaging attitude towards it the day before, and couldn't quite make the two mesh. But the other man was watching him slightly defiantly and he couldn't ask, because he knew that Bobby had done it for Sam. Because he had known that Sam would have wanted him to if Dean had been able to hand the phone over to him like Bobby had asked.

He had patched up the dog's wound because neither of them had been able to tend to Sam's.

Both Dean's had done well, had spent almost 30 seconds without looking for Sam, and it was the smaller of the two that resume the search first, darting out of the human's reach and glancing around the car park, tail wagging so fast they could barely see it, ears pricked expectantly.

But the lot remained deserted, the open room door that Dean had emerged from remained clear.

The dog knew. Dean could see in the droop of its shoulders, in the way it lowered its head and its tail that the dog knew in that instant that Sam wasn't here. Saw it in the confused way it turned its head back to look at him, questioning, and in Dean's mind a little accusatory.

It knew Sam wasn't here, but like its human counterpart it went through the motions anyway.

Bobby closed the car up with a slam and the two followed the dog through the open door. It was just emerging from the bathroom as they entered, and was turning its attention to under the bed on the off chance Dean hadn't thought to look there.

He had.

It turned out Sam wasn't under the table either, and he wasn't hiding in the space between their weapon's bag and the wall. Watching him was making Dean dizzy. The simple faith it had that Sam would not have left them, that Dean would not have let him get far.

He sat down on the bed more heavily than he had planned and the noise of it had both of them moving towards him, Bobby watching with weary eyes, obviously unsure what to do with himself now he was here. But Dean didn't want his words of comfort. It was his mere presence that he needed. The fact that he was here, that he was an extra pair of eyes and hands and assorted weapons was of more practical use, did more to raise Dean's spirits than any words of encouragement he might come out with, and luckily Bobby knew this well enough not to bother to try. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing he _could _say that would not sound empty and hollow. That could adequately fill the void he could feel in the room.

The dog was both more tactile and more vocal. It jumped up so it was resting its two great front paws on Dean's knee, so that its questioning eyes and searching nose were more in line with Dean's own. And it whined.

It was so high pitched and mournful that Dean's breath caught, and it got Bobby moving again. Bobby tried to shush the dog, to get it to abandon its enquiry and leave Dean alone in case its wailing upset him; because he could see the affect it was having on Dean's calm. But Dean shook his head and pulled the dog closer. He wanted to let it cry. He felt closer to it in that.

Dean needed to be strong, but he was glad that one of them had the luxury to grieve for Sam. To acknowledge the hole he had left in the way it deserved. He didn't want Bobby to move it either, to take the feel of that warmth from his reach, because the inside of him was so damn cold.

Bobby had been geared up for a fight; had a speech prepared and everything, but when he held out the food Dean took it gratefully and ate without question. The fact he was willing to stop to eat at all told Bobby everything. That Dean expected them to be in for the long haul.

The thought of food made Dean sick; not because he wasn't hungry - he was starving – but because he knew Sam must be hungry by now too. Their last meal in that diner, the last time Dean had seen him, was a lifetime ago. It was irrational given the other discomforts that Sam no doubt faced, but Dean hated to think of his brother cold and hungry, because these were two things that, had he been here, Dean would have been able to easily fix.

He had wanted to hold off, as if in suffering himself he would be providing some sort of solidarity to Sam, but he was so tired now and his vision was starting to blur, and the strength to keep looking was more important than his notions of pride. So he would swallow back the nausea and he would eat. He would eat because sleeping would still have to wait. Eating might give him the strength to continue a while longer without stealing the time of genuine rest.

But he filled Bobby in on what he had done so far as he ate. He was not going to waste any more time than was necessary. He was not going to let his mind slow down, would not let it forget for even a second what he needed to do. He would not forget his concern. He had done that at the hospital. He had chosen not to call. Had shrugged away his anxiety and decided not to call. He had held his phone in his hand, stared at his brother's name on the screen, and then passed up on his last chance to hear that voice. Passed it up out of pride. Because he hadn't wanted Sam to realise how worried he really was. He hadn't wanted Sam to know how much Dean hated not being with him, not having him within his sight. And now telling him was _all_ he wanted to do.

Because if he'd called and got no reply he would have looked for Sam sooner; maybe even have caught up with him before he made it back to their room. Would have known there was something wrong more clearly than he already had.

And maybe Sam had done the same thing. His phone had been in his hand when he'd been attacked, it wouldn't have been so damaged if it had not. Was it possible they had both done it? Both stood there with contact within their reach only to change their minds at the last moment. Dean swore right then that if he ever got the urge to call Sam again he would take it. No matter how stupid it might make him look he would take it. Because not being able to do so now was slowly killing him.

Dean still had a few places left on his list to check. He didn't hold out much hope that they would provide anything useful but he wouldn't ignore them on the off chance they might. And quite frankly he was running out of other practical action to take. Bobby offered to take half of the list for him, but there were two other things that Dean needed the other man to do. The first was to hire him a video so they would go through the countless hours of garage forecourt CCTV footage he had acquired. The second was a much more galling prospect, but one it was about time to admit was probably necessary. One Dean had been reluctant until now to spend the time to do properly. To come up with a plausible cry for aid.

So while Dean headed back out under the auspice of caffeine and adrenaline, his faithful sniffer dog now in tow, Bobby went to the police. He filed a missing person's report, not only for Sam but also for Kane. He could understand why Dean had been reluctant despite the extra scope and resources this would bring to the search, because it needed to be done carefully. It needed to be done without flashing the name Winchester over the police airwaves. To stress the fact it was information and aid they were seeking rather than action. That Kane should not be tipped off or approached in any way, because not only would that put the police officers' lives in danger, but also Sam's. Would encourage Kane to be even more vigilant about covering his tracks.

He also had to ensure it was not questioned that Dean had already been exploring some of the leads they would no doubt be considering, and had already confiscate half the states CCTV coverage. He got them to hand over the traffic camera tapes for every route out of town, and access to the equipment to view it; to ensure their co-operation and support without them poking into anything that might prove hard to later explain.

It took longer than Bobby had expected, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally managed to exit the station. He called Dean and got him to hand over some of the remaining locations on his list. He had been working his way outwards, and the ones left were on the edge of the hours drive radius that Dean had stipulated, and were well spaced. There weren't many more to hit, but they would prove to be incredibly time consuming dead ends.

From the lack of any report Bobby got the message that Dean was having no luck with his searches, so he headed back to the motel when he had finished his own. He had already dropped the equipment off at the motel's reception before going to the station, and Dean was already huddled on his bed with the dog working his way through the footage when he got back. Bobby pulled up a chair alongside the bed and they sat in silence for a while, both glued to the screen, but besides the odd indiscretion in gas station restrooms that Dean couldn't even find it within himself to comment on, there was nothing to see.

Bobby was clearly uncomfortable on the stiff wooden chair but he maintained his silence. Dean knew he was avoiding sitting on Sam's bed uninvited. It went without saying that Bobby would not be sleeping in it, if they stopped for sleep at all. It wasn't as if Sam would have minded – he would probably have been more exasperated with the fact they were treating the things he had left behind him like a shrine. Dean entertained the notion of not showering until Sam had been able to take the bath he had been denied, but only ended up upsetting himself imagining Sam's snort of exasperation at that idea. He was more grateful than he could express for Bobby's presence, but the mere fact that he was here only highlighted his brother's absence. He would not make the replacement any more clear by volunteering his brother's bed, by allowing him to finish the bar of chocolate Sam had left out on the table; the one that had been sustaining him through their mammoth research session of the night before the night before. No matter how good it looked just sitting there staring at them.

They tape they had been watching came to an end and ejected itself from the machine, but Dean made no move to get up and change it. That was the third tape he'd tried. Ten garages in the immediate area that had security footage, and a weeks worth of opportunity for Kane to have stopped at one of them. The pile was hardly decreasing. He had started with the one in town, positive that Kane had been the one to make sure there were no tires in stock before his act of vandalism. And surely enough there he was, striding over to the counter without a care in the world, and Dean had been glad that Bobby was yet to return, because it would have been hard to conceal the haze of rage that had settled over everything the second Dean had seen him. But he'd checked the day and time from every angle possible, and there was no sign of a car. No sign of anything that could help move this investigation forward. Nothing other than the fact Kane had been there, and had bought tires. Which Dean had already known.

That had been five hours ago and his eyes were beginning to blur, and he had a horrible feeling it was not because of the strain of watching the grainy black and white footage on fast forward for so long. He gripped tighter on the remote and swallowed convulsively; willing Bobby would leave the room, just for a moment, but also that he would never leave his sight at all.

There was still endless footage to go through but it didn't matter. They weren't going to find him. That didn't mean Dean wasn't going to look, wasn't going to spend his whole life trying to figure out exactly what had happened here. But he _knew_ he wasn't going to find him. He knew that as surely as he knew that Sam was still alive. Knew that this would be his life now. Hold up in some dead end motel hunting down pointless leads feeling the trail grow ever colder, the distance between them ever wider, knowing that he was quite frankly too far away now to catch up.

Because Sam _was_ still alive. He might have been gone for 31 hours now, but he _was_ still alive. Because if Kane had killed him, _when_ Kane killed him, he would want Dean to know about it. To know exactly what he had done. Otherwise what was the point? Kane would not deny himself the pleasure of looking Dean in the eyes and telling him, showing him, making him feel his failure.

So until he was given proof otherwise he would work on the basis that Sam was alive, that he was still out there somewhere to find.

"Dean?" He had been silent for a long time, and as much as he might need it, Bobby knew it was not yet time to allow Dean to grow introspective.

"I just…" he sighed, shifting uncomfortably. He didn't want to admit it but it was eating him inside. "I never asked. I… I just assumed that he… So I never asked."

Bobby kept silent. If Dean felt that he needed to talk then he would let him, but he would not push. Not yet. Dean had said barely anything to him since he'd arrived. Nothing that was not crucial to their investigation. Nothing personal at all. He was the focus of both their thoughts, but so far Dean had not brought himself to mention Sam.

"I thought Kane had intended a direct trade. That he was going to take from Sam what he took from me. But he didn't need to take Sam for that. Not unless… Maybe he's waiting for a buyer, I don't know…" the idea he was keeping Sam indefinitely while he knew the fate that awaited him was excruciating. "He would have left me Sam, just taken the device. He had no interest in me at all once he'd set the transfer in motion."

"He doesn't want Sam's emotions." Bobby spoke quietly.

"Did he..?" The idea Sam would have confided in Bobby what he still hadn't learnt… Or that Bobby would keep it from him if he had…

"No. He never said a word. But… I did some digging. Into the device you found. It's the kind of thing where you have to catch your victims unawares. Or push them. Because it relies heavily on the emotion you're feeling at the time of contact. That's hard to artificially replicate."

"For Sam it was pain." Dean admitted bitterly, "I don't think Kane's gonna have a great deal of trouble replicating that."

"But Sam will." Bobby insisted, but he could see that Dean was not convinced, was trying hard to pull himself away from the images his words had created. "The emotions have to be pure for the transfer to work. They have to be… automatic. It's hard to explain, but it's hard to catch someone emotionally unaware. If you know what's coming and are expecting the attack, you're gonna be very aware of what you're feeling, and that knowledge is going to underlay everything you feel. You're gonna be fighting it on some level, whether you're aware of it or not. And Sam's already been caught unawares once. He knows what it feels like now so has a better idea how to protect himself against it. It's a one time deal Dean; whatever Kane has in mind for Sam, I don't think it's that."

"But that means... No, Kane said he's take them back. That he gave Sam what he wanted, but he could take them back. He said…" He had told Dean his emotions were strong, would raise a high price, but he had known all along that he would probably never be able to take them. Because if he was protecting Sam the knowledge of that would cloud his every negative expression. Kane had claimed that he wasn't a murderer. Wasn't cruel for cruelties sake… it had never been anything other than an empty threat. Kane might have tracked him, taunted him and threatened him, but Kane had never actually wanted Dean. He had not use for him. But Sam had…

"Sam said I had something Kane wanted" Dean insisted, "He said not to… not to provoke him, because I still had something he wanted."

Bobby was watching him sorrowfully now, willing him to catch on.

"You did." He whispered.

"But…" Kane had led him to believe that Dean was the one he'd wanted. Even when he'd failed to show for the meeting a part of him had still thought that; that the fears that so plagued him were still crying out to Kane like a beacon. He had called Bobby. Put him on Kane's trail when he had known it was exactly the kind of thing Sam had been warning him about. Had Sam honestly thought that Dean was more likely to be careful with his actions if he though it was his own life in danger rather than Sam's? Had Sam even known, or like Dean had he too believed Kane's words?

Sam had known. He'd even told him it was not safe for them to discuss the matter, but he had tried to make him understand. He'd asked Dean to trust him. To not do anything stupid, because he had known that Kane would take from Dean the one thing he could not bare to lose.

So what had Kane wanted? What had Kane wanted from Sam that he could not get from Dean? That Sam would be so reluctant to talk about?

"Oh God…" That was obvious. Really really obvious. So obvious that Dean kicked himself that he had not stopped to consider it sooner. Because who in their right mind would let someone like Kane, who dealt in supernatural oddities, near someone like Sam who, lets face it, was one.

Kane obviously thought he would profit from Sam, would be able to use him to rebuild his operation. Why was it only now that Kane's words seemed so clear? Whatever he wanted from Sam he'd expected it to make him, and Dean suddenly couldn't have been more terrified about that. Be more afraid of what Kane had in mind, and just what buyer he had lined up.

But thinking about that led to a complete inability to function, and that was no doubt one of the things Kane had been counting on. That he could break Dean with his games; lose him in them, making his ability to pursue them less effective. To freeze Dean in his fear and let Kane and his brother slip away. And if that was the case, then it was possible that Kane really had feared that Dean would be able to track them. He must have known that Dean would never stop, so to try and force that freeze upon him, perhaps he was genuinely worried, there was a genuine possibility that he could hunt them down. There was a lead out there that he could follow, if only he found it in time.

And if that was the case, the Dean would work doubly hard to prove him right.

That got him moving again. He snuck gently from underneath the dog's paws, not wanting to wake it now that it was resting, not wanting to remind it, make it more aware of what they were doing. If it was anyone other than Sam, any other dog but this one, then Dean would have been the first in line to ridicule it, but he knew this pup knew exactly what was going on. At least the only details that mattered. It knew that Sam was gone, and it knew that they were trying to get him back. It had known that was why they had been searching those apartments, and Dean had been grateful for its presence because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Sam had been near any of them the dog would know about it. Would have let that fact be known. He wouldn't be surprised if it would also recognise Kane's scent given the violent way it had reacted to the device back in the motel room, when Sam had first accidentally set it up and running.

"Killing Sam has not profit for Kane." Bobby offered before Dean could leave his spot on the bed. Before the opportunity for this conversation was officially closed. "The threat about his reputation… I've asked around, and Kane isn't known for leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Not intentionally. He dabbles in some pretty nasty stuff but he doesn't get his hands dirty unless he has to. Unless he can get something pretty special out of it. That's how he avoids attention. Vendettas." It was only a half comfort. Kane wanted Sam for something, and if either of them had taken the time to force him to explain what that was, then maybe they would have a lead. Maybe they wouldn't have let Kane near him at all. But neither had wanted to push him, and Dean had had the arrogance to presume that he could protect Sam from whatever it was. That he had the slightest comprehension what was going on. So they had let it slide.

But Sam hadn't thought it an important detail. Important enough for him to worry about, but not to share. It was worth Kane coming after him for, and as much as he was loathed to admit it in light of his reaction to Kane's presence, Sam had _never_ hidden that fact from him. The belief that Kane was alive and gunning for him.

Bobby was providing him with nothing but support and calm, but Dean knew he was worried. He was more worried than he would ever say. He knew the other man thought he should have packed Sam away and ran the second Kane had appeared, at the very least immediately forced him to spill all. And Dean could only wish that he had done. But Kane's threats had been so real, still echoed in his brain, and even now Dean couldn't bring himself to discount them. To believe that Kane would not have done exactly as he had claimed.

There would be time for this conversation, for the resulting recriminations, later. He didn't want to think that way but he knew there would be so much time. But now they still had potential lead they could follow, and that was a more important use of their time.

So he nodded to show that he understood what Bobby was trying to say, but he left his spot on the bed and made his way over to change the tape, to add another to the growing pile of wasted hours, and take one more away from the potential paths to Sam.

000000000000000000000

Dean woke with a start, his fingers reaching automatically for the remote before he remembered that there was no point. There was nothing left to see. Nothing more these films could show him. They had got a second video to cut down on time. They had divided the tapes between them. And they had found Kane's car, on one of the last tapes they had checked. He had bought enough gas to make it clear he was planning a long journey. The number plate was clearly visible. They had given it to the police and spent the next few hours scanning traffic cameras for evidence of what direction it had been caught heading out of town. But they needn't have bothered. The police called back by the end of the day. Kane's car had been found abandoned at the roadside a hundred miles away from here. No other cars had been reported stolen in the area. The trail had already run dry. Two days of sitting in the dark scanning camera footage and they were no closer to tracking Kane than when they had started.

He looked at his watch. It was 9am. Bobby would be here in an hour ready to leave. He could pick up the Impala at ten, and they could leave this place behind them. There was nothing more for them here. He had searched every inch of it over the past three days. This town had nothing to offer.

Except that final tie to Sam. The last place that Dean could say with any certainty that his brother had been. Here, in this very room. The trail was growing colder by the second but while he was here at least he was on it. He knew for sure that Sam had walked these streets, because Dean had walked them with him. Had joked with him here. Had witnessed that final transition from dependent younger brother to the man Sam had become, here, within these boundaries. He had accepted Sam's return to the hunt, geared up ready to face the next stage of their lives.

But he had never expected this.

Sam was still in this room. Dean could feel him here, could practically smell him. His belongings were still lying untouched where he had left them and Dean knew he now faced the task of clearing them away. Of throwing away the bottle of water that Sam would never finish, of picking up the shirt on the floor in the corner that Dean could only assume that Sam had intended to pick up and clean. He faced the task of removing his brother's toothbrush from the bathroom, packing his books away, zipping that bag shut on items that would never again be seen. That Dean could not bear to look at again until he had Sam back. Items that Dean took for granted. That imbued the room with life, whether he had noticed them before or not.

They'd decided it was time to leave, but that didn't mean for a moment that they had any idea where to go. They had no idea where Kane or Sam were, only where they were not. They couldn't even be sure they had really been heading in the direction the car had been found in, or if that was merely an elaborate ruse. If Kane had turned back in the hope that Dean would continue. But if they didn't head in that direction then there were too many other alternatives.

Bobby had tried to give their decision a more logical base. A reason why Kane might have chosen it. He had obviously given up his old hideouts, so it was unlikely he would march home to be caught. This route took them in the opposite direction, and they would pass only through places that didn't already have a figure like Kane preying on them. Because if Kane set foot on another merchant's territory he would be killed on sight.

Bobby's contacts were again on the hunt for Kane, but with this new widened search area they were yet to report back with anything of use. Even when he had been operating out of one state they had never been anything other than a few steps behind him, despite all the information they had acquired, evidenced by the fact they had never been able to touch him before. That Sam had done in one night what these men had spent years trying to achieve.

But Dean was so far behind now that even a days old sighting would advance his position. Would at least have him heading in the right direction. Bobby received updates each morning and night but so far they had garnered nothing.

With the police out of the way Dean had thrown down the remainder of his pride and had eventually called Ellen. When Sam had been hurt he had not dreamt to call her – there had been absolutely nothing she could do. But now he had to admit that she had contacts of her own, whether he trusted them or not. But she was less inclined to see it that way. Had had no dealings with Kane or men of his type before, so was less incline to take the threat seriously. If Sam had vanished so effectively without a trace then there was no way a man was behind it. And while she was sorry that Sam was gone, if the demon was involved then setting a pack of unpredictable hunters on his trail was perhaps not the best idea, because there was no way of controlling what they decided to do with Sam once they found him. Ash was still looking for signs of the demon, but that failed to comfort Dean really, since if Ash was going to pick something up he would have preferred it to have been before Sam was taken rather than after.

He got up and showered; after three days he was more than ready to break his self imposed pact, and besides; he had absolutely no idea when the opportunity would be available again. When they would next stop. Because once they were on the move Dean would not stop without reason.

God the room was too quiet. He couldn't do this without the noise and bitching that usually accompanied such a large-scale repack. Couldn't escape Sam's voice telling him not to bend his book, to perhaps try folding something once in a while, complaining that maybe if he hadn't spread their weapons and protective supplies quite as extensively throughout the room it would not now be taking him quite so long to retrieve them.

In the end he had to turn on the TV to banish the silence. He'd never before realised how much he and his brother talked. Even when there was nothing to say. Bobby was a lot more taciturn by nature than Sam and they had fallen into a routine of silence, of avoiding the things that neither wanted to have to say. Dean had found himself talking to the dog, which he was yet to let out of his sight since it had got here – he was not making that mistake again – just to remind himself what his own voice sounded like. To try and banish the croak of under-use.

The TV was tuned to some morning talk show, but Dean could take no solace in the fact that at least he wasn't pregnant by his brother's lovechild, because his eyes were drawn to the time and date in the corner of the screen.

"Shit."

How had he forgotten? He'd had a lot on his mind over the last few days it was true, but still… he'd been thinking and plotting about it for weeks before this had all gone down.

He was trying to make up his mind whether it was a good thing he had been reminded or he was wishing he had never known. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do with the knowledge that today was Sam's birthday. How was that supposed to feel? Was nausea an appropriate reaction?

This was not the first time Dean had not been able to celebrate his brother's birthday with him, and the pain of that had always managed to take him by surprise, but in the past he had always at least known where Sam was. Known that he wasn't alone.

Was Sam thinking about it too? Did Sam even know? Or had he too lost track of the days? Perhaps there was only darkness and no time at all in whatever hell he was currently trapped in. He knew that Sam had not wanted to do anything for it; had the crazy notion that his birth was not exactly something for the world to celebrate, which was perhaps why Dean had been so keen to prove that, as far as he was concerned at least, it was. Dean had come far to close to losing him over the past year to be anything other than grateful. They had spent Christmas in the ICU. His own birthday had been less than fun. So while Sam had viewed its approach with dread Dean had looked ahead to this day as some kind of new beginning. They were moving on with their lives and Dean couldn't have been more relieved about that fact, and had been looking forward to an opportunity to prove to Sam that was the case. And here he was. His new beginning. Clearing their room of all traces of the brother he had wanted to prove he desperately needed in his life. Enclosing them in a bag he knew he could not bring himself to reopen alone.

Twenty-four years ago today this stage of his life had began. His father had picked him up and pointed at the small pink figure through the glass, told Dean that he was a brother now. That he would be a good brother. That together they would take such good care of him and little Sammy would always be safe. Well this empty room was a testament to how royally he had fucked that one up.

He had only just got Sam back. Why was it that every time it started to feel like things could be alright between them, something always happened to majorly screw that up? And every time they were beginning to overcome one obstacle another would just present itself.

And he had just got Sam back. Dean had been given a glimpse of what life would be like without him, and he had never ever wanted to go back there. But now that was all there was. Until Kane slipped up. Until he got too cocky and did something to make his whereabouts known, then this life was all Dean had. And ever second he waited was a second more to his failure. Was a second more that Kane got to spend with Sam, got to hear, see, touch the thing that he was denied. The only thing he had ever wanted, ever asked for for himself.

And that was the thought that got him moving. The thought of Kane's long cold fingers on Sam's skin. Kane touching his brother at all. He had tried so hard not to think about it. To focus his mind on the light that was Sam still alive and to work with that, not to allow himself to dwell on what he must be experiencing. What exactly Kane would be doing with him now that he had him. But now that was all he could think about. Sam. Sammy. His little brother, the only light, the only innocence in his life and Kane had corrupted that now by his mere presence. By breathing the same air. And Kane had promised he would make Sam cry. Would make Sam scream. Would force Sam to endure horrors the likes of which Dean could not even contemplate. Would surely not remain sane if he did. So why could he not get the images out of his head. The sound of Sam's screams and accusations. The startling colour of his blood staining the sidewalk, Dean's hands. Kane's malice anywhere near him. The extent of Kane's cruelty, the mind games he liked to play, the implements of torture he created everyday and the 89 hours he had now had to use them. To test out which ones might be the most effective. Would make Sam scream to just the right effect. Might give Kane what he wanted to hear.

He made it to the toilet before he started throwing up, which was a good thing because he really didn't want to spend any more time cleaning this room. His throat burned and his stomach cramped and he couldn't sob now, couldn't break down or he would choke. But it would be a fitting end to him. It would be no less than he deserved. And if he gave in, failing Sam in that way on top of everything else, allowed the horror and the fear to own him, to prevent him from doing his job, then he wasn't worthy to have Sam back.

But there was no-one else. There would be no-one looking if he gave up now.

He managed to get control over his retching. To get his mind back under control. He wasn't sure if the shaking would ever stop but for the time being he could still think for himself. Could still act.

The dog had woken up and wandered in to see what he was doing, huddled on the floor in front of the toilet, arms hugging his knees. But his body was cold and empty while the dog was still so warm. So trusting. So unwavering in its belief that they would be able to get Sam back for him.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, pulling the animal closer. He'd repeated that phrase to it a thousand times to it over the last few days, and while each time he meant it, each time he was apologising for a slightly different thing. This time it was the fact he had broken down. Had come so close to losing control. To reaching the point where he would have been of no use to any of them.

He finished retrieving their belongings from the bathroom while he was in there and carried on with his packing, both eager to get it done and keen to draw it out, delay the moment when he left this room. Sam's place of sanctuary that had so cruelly betrayed him. He was keen to get his car back, to feel its echoing rumble, to try to use its calm, but for the days and nights to come his comfort would be stolen by the empty seat beside him. All thoughts of peace would be sucked straight into the vacuum of that void.

His jeans were annoying him. The belt had gotten itself caught on the zipper of his bag and he couldn't for the life of him get them to go either in or out of the bag. Couldn't get them to break free. And if he couldn't even pack clothes effectively by himself, who in their right minds had ever thought to trust him with a life. To place that cargo in his hands and see that it was so obviously going to end this way. And he needed to get moving and find Sam and this stupid bag was just too stupid stubborn and…

Sometimes violence really was the answer. But while the belt was no-longer attached to the bag, half of its contents had now come lose and were scattered across the floor.

Taking a deep breath he knelt down to put them back in, trying to ignore his own little hissy fit. Ignore the clenching in his heart that he had made the dog cower. Momentarily flee from him.

He was so close to making Bobby's 10am rendezvous time. Would have made it with ease had he not seen that shirt. Had the flash of red not caught his eye as he was repacking. Had the colour not already been staining his mind.

He unfolded the t-shirt he had been holding carefully, and the sight of it was like a punch. The memory of it was painful. Beautiful and tragic and painful at the same time. So much like Sam.

He had tucked this away at the bottom of his bag and never once given it a second thought. But now he didn't think there was a way he could remove it from his hands. Could breathe if it was taken out of his sight. So much like Sam.

His hand print, his blood, gripping Dean's chest. The urgency and the love, the fear and the need just as loud now as they had ever been. That quiet little voice, that constant presence in the back of Dean's mind making itself known. Saying 'I'm here' and 'let me help you' and 'you don't have to go through the darkness alone'.

And it was that image, the purity of that symbol, that banished away all fear and distortion that Kane had planted in his memory. That allowed him to focus once more, to pull back the picture of his Sam as he had always been. Dean's comfort. His innocence. His light.

A reminder of Sam's own determination. His ability to bounce back. He had not yet sunk under the pressure of what life dealt him, however tempting that prospect had been. He had lent on Dean, but he had never made his brother carry his full weight. Even when Dean had wanted to, had thought he would have to, Sam had never ceased to surprise him. To vow that he could be strong.

Dean forgot it all too often. His own need and Sam's nature sometimes allowed the fact to be buried, but Sam had proved time and time again that he could save himself. That even when he couldn't, he wouldn't stop trying. And Dean was holding the proof of that. That sometimes Sam could rally, could throw his own pain and weakness behind him and save them both. He had been that way his whole life, it would not change now.

Maybe all Dean needed was to hold on to the strength to meet him half way.

And that was what got the floodgates opening. The clear indication of just what he had lost. Just how big that void really was, and how nothing else in the world would ever be the right shape to fill it. And Dean had lost him.

He had not cried like this since the first night away from the hospital. Since Sam's seizure. He gave in to the tears and it was so much more painful than the vomiting. But he couldn't admit how much he had wanted to do this. How much he had wanted to let this go. To ease some of the building pressure. To acknowledge some of the gaping wound of pain inside himself. Just how big the hole was. To not belittle what Sam meant to him by keeping it in. By pretending he could be stoic in the face of this.

He wanted to give Sam these tears, because he didn't know now what else to give him.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

Just a wee one (for me – at least it was when I first wrote this note) because it's a logical stopping point. I promise we'll be hearing from Sam again very soon, but the next part makes more sense if you get this first.

And thanks to those of you who reviewed that I was either too lame or had no way of replying to. I do appreciate it.

**Chapter Twelve**

Bobby wasn't sure what was taking them so long; it was hardly as though he had put in a mammoth order. But he couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the delay. For a reason not to have to return to that room so soon. To not have to face its occupant. To spend one more day avoiding the issue. Not saying what Dean knew he was thinking. Couldn't bring _himself_ to think.

Two weeks. They had been on the road for over two weeks. They had responded to even the vaguest of rumours. Every hint that had come their way. But they had found nothing. They were no nearer finding out what had happened now than they had been when this had started.

He closed his eyes against the harsh artificial glare of the diner's lighting, tried to still the hand nervously clutching at the salt shaker in front of him. To absorb calm from the cold smooth surface of the Formica table top he was leaning against. Grateful that there was something else to carry the weight of his exhaustion, for even a minute. Because he couldn't think these thoughts without the additional support.

But how could he not think them? How could he push the belief away? How could he hold onto hope when he had been given no reason at all to do so? When every second of ever day, ever single breath, had stripped a little more from him.

But how could he be the one to voice that out loud? How did you tell Dean Winchester that it was time to stop looking? Time to stop fooling himself that they were ever going to find Sam alive.

That they were going to find Sam at all.

How could he tell that to himself? How could he bring himself to admit, even internally, even in those darkest quietest moments of night, that after this long, after 18 days, there was a part of him that didn't _want _to believe that Sam was still alive. Had held on that long. That really, if they were honest with themselves, for a long time now Sam had probably been better off dead. Because Kane had clearly taken him with a reason in mind. And if the whispered hints, the trail they were on was anything to go by, then Kane was active, and he couldn't be naïve enough to believe that Sam did not have something to do with that. That any use Kane might have had for Sam could be in any way pleasant.

But he couldn't reconcile that believe, that awful sickening hope, with the memory of that face. Of his friend's youngest son. The small boy he had first met, watched grow, the man he had seen him become. Grown accustomed to seeing daily. Whose presence he had accepted into his home, given his peace and solitude to help preserve.

How could he bare to believe that it was true?

Because the alternative was Dean. The alternative sat across from him every day, tortured himself every instant with the very images that Bobby was trying to push away. By contemplating the very things that he hoped in his mercy that Sam was spared. Was past having to endure.

Because Dean would not, perhaps _could_ not believe that Sam was gone. Bobby knew the thought was there, festering, but he simply refused to acknowledge it. He couldn't bring himself to believe Sam dead, but that left him open to be assaulted by the fear of everything his brother could now be facing. To feel the pain of each potential blow as if it were his own. And it was killing him.

But he held on to the belief that Sam was alive because he still believed that Kane would want to taunt him with the truth if he were not. Bobby couldn't agree. He couldn't believe Kane would be that kind. Because the not knowing was the worst possible form of mental abuse. Because Dean had seen a lot of horrors in his life. Had a very vivid imagination. If Kane would not put him out of his misery and just allow him to know what had become of Sam then he would continue to think up new scenarios for himself. And there was nothing Kane could do to him, nothing he could produce, that would be a worse form of torture for Dean than that.

Dean needed the truth. He needed to be allowed some kind of closure. But he would not get that from knowing for sure. If Sam was dead there would be no closure for Dean, no peace. No anything as long as Kane was alive. He would not be able to rest either way as long as Kane was still out there.

And yes, Bobby felt some sense of duty towards Sam. Of Sam. Kind of removed responsibility, because he may have been more hands off in his approach but he had given Sam a home, a base, watched him grow stronger. Learnt to read him. To accept his presence as a natural feature in his house. So much so that he was afraid he would haunt it now. It would be a long time before Bobby would be able to look again at his chair by the window without seeing Sam curled up in it, nose buried in a book. A long time before the smell of freshly brewed coffee would not remind him of Sam's simple enthusiasm that Dean had calmed enough to no-longer be strictly monitoring his caffeine intake.

But as much as he felt that, as much as he wanted to pound on the one that had taken that from them until long after he lost all feeling in his fists, he wanted to honour that memory too. He wanted to obey Sam's wishes, because he knew without a doubt what they would be. Where his priority should lie. And that was with the brother that was still with him. The one that he could help. The one that was destroying himself slowly but surely before his very eyes. He had taken both of them in. It wasn't just Sam he had felt the need to help. That he had watched over the past few months. Sam wasn't the only Winchester he was failing now.

Dean couldn't go on like this indefinitely. Could not survive another vendetta. Shouldn't have to have been put in a position where every member of his small family had given themselves over to protect him. Because that was doing nothing for his sense of self worth. Bobby couldn't help but wish one of them had had the faith to trust that Dean could have found a way out without them having to provide such extreme levels of help.

Dean had put his mask back in place. Bobby had first noticed it the morning they had left the motel, when Dean had met him 40 minutes late and they had checked out to pick up the Impala. It surprised him to see it; he hadn't been expecting it. Had grown accustomed to its absence. Even when he had met Dean in the parking lot, even as they had gone over everything he'd done since Sam had disappeared, Dean had not felt the need to protect himself in that way. But as much as Bobby wanted to be able to strip it from him once more, he knew that Dean needed it. That it was the only thing that was allowing him to keep going. To not become buried under each new dead end. To grit his teeth and not let each new reminder of his loss, to let each time they arrived just a little too late, show itself in his face. To maintain the same level of determination when pursuing each new lead, and it amazed Bobby because he simply couldn't do it. It was as though they were constantly three days behind. If it was even Kane's trail they were following. Bobby's contacts were still looking; they were both scanning the internet, police airwaves, any source they could muster for potential leads. For unusual occurrences that seemed just a different shade of unusual to normal. One the standard ghosts or creatures they were familiar with would not be the cause of.

But each new lead was always days away, and by the time they got there the trail was already cold. But after 20 hours solid travel to get there, Bobby had never imagined it would be any other way. That Kane would not have moved on the second he began to make noise. He knew that the moment the report reached their ears it was already too late. And each failure just compounded the ones before it, and Bobby didn't know how Dean could face the next sighting with that same grim determination. Could take the inevitable day of searching and questioning and uncovering nothing with such stoical calm.

And then the sightings had dried up. They had heard nothing for three days. And Bobby finally understood. Saw that all the driving and the questioning and the scanning, all the keeping his mind focused on the job at hand; it was all Dean had. The only way of keeping his doubts at bay. That all the energy of maintaining that front meant it was not channelled into worry. Was not directed at that uncertainty, at conjuring the images of what Kane was doing, of how he was carting Sam miles across country. And why.

It was now a certainty for both of them that whatever Kane was up to, he had been using Sam to do it. Which was why the sudden cessation in his activities was all the more unnerving. They were both waiting for a sign, aware that it would no doubt pain Sam to give them one, but at least then Dean would be able to continue with his belief that Sam was alive. And as much as Bobby might hate himself for wishing that on Sam, it was what Dean needed. It was the only way they were going to be able to find him. Because the cracks in Dean's armour were beginning to show.

It was only a couple of minutes walk back to the motel. Dean had been silent when Bobby had left him, had barely spoken a word in days, and Bobby had never before realised that he had been able to measure Dean's mood by how vocal he allowed himself to be. Because when his mind was active and he had a lead to pursue, then he was Dean. A little moodier, a little more strained in his interactions, but it was still Dean. The same Dean he had hunted with, lived with, in the past. But as both his faith and his distractions grew less, Dean was slowly sinking into himself once more.

Bobby had left him to find food, but he wanted to be able to give him s_omething_ when he got back. Something other than the physical sustenance he was becoming increasingly to need. That his heightened levels of desperation were denying him. Because he could make Dean eat, he could even make Dean sleep because he knew he would be no match for Kane if he wasn't on top form. But with no news coming in they were merely treading water. It was the semblance of living, not the reality of it.

And so he had hoped that he would be able to bring something positive back in with him. Had timed his day so that his daily check in calls would be received when he was out of the room, because there were only so many negative reports that Dean could listen to. He would know the outcome by whether or not they were going to pack up and leave. He didn't need to hear the conversation for himself. Hear the doubt in Bobby's voice, in his source's voice on the other end of the phone. But Sam had pushed. Even when everyone else had given up on tracking the merchant at all, Sam had pushed. Had been the lone voice insisting that they were wrong. Putting them back on the trail. And he had paid for that. Now the lack of Sam's prodding was the very reason that they were refusing to give up. But Bobby could only keep their good faith for so long. The longer it went without them uncovering anything, the closer they got to the day when Bobby answered the phone to be told that the trail was too cold. That they were on their own now. Because they had other, more immediately productive ways to fill their time. Kane was not the only threat out there, and someone needed to take care of the other supernatural problems that had been put on the backburner. And there was no way Bobby would make Dean listen to that call. No way he could face Dean again if he received it, because he couldn't for the life of him conjure up a strong enough argument to convince them to keep looking. One that would convince anyone that didn't already know Sam personally.

And the fact that midday had come and gone without him receiving his morning check in was making Bobby want to stay away. Because if it was taking them this long to put together the courage to tell him, then he doubted it would be good.

He almost didn't make it. Their motel was in sight by the time the phone rang. He was still marvelling at how bad a sign it was that today was the first day in two weeks that they had not been on the road at first light, if they had stopped at all, when the familiar ringing interrupted his thoughts. He slowed his pace and answered. He would linger out of Dean's sight while he took this call.

"This comes with no guarantees." The voice on the other end launched straight in before Bobby could even begin to prepare himself for the worst. "We're talking third, fourth hand sources here. That's why I'm so late calling; I've spent half the day trying to get confirmation but it's not exactly forthcoming."

"What are you talking about?"

"There was a possible sighting, but it doesn't really fit Kane's MO."

"Which part of this does?"

"But this _really_ doesn't. There's been a guy matching Kane's description, appeared out of nowhere in a town just outside San Francisco. He's causing a bit of a stir. Not exactly keeping a low profile."

"What's he doing?"

"He's visiting psychics."

"What!?"

"Two have turned up dead."

"He killed them?"

"I don't know. As far as I can tell, the woman this is coming from, she received a visit from someone that could possibly be out guy. He knew what he was talking about, that's why he caught her attention. But he didn't threaten her in the slightest. Was nice, charming. He seemed to be gathering information."

"For?"

"That's anyone's guess. But she's still very much alive. Look… like I said. This doesn't exactly sound like the kind of thing that Kane would get himself involved in. It's much to high profile for one. And there doesn't seem to be anything overtly supernatural about these deaths. They just look like murder. And it's a little out of his way. All the other suspected sightings we've had have seemed reasonable. But this… San Francisco's awfully close to Prichard's sphere of influence. If Kane was there he'd want to be flying under the radar, not making this much noise."

"So much noise we don't even know that it's him."

"Look, I've got nothing else to tell you. I'm not convinced, but it wouldn't hurt to check it out."

"If he's targeting psychics…"

"When I say psychics, I mean people who advertise in the phone book. Have offices on the high street. The source this is coming from is the real deal. Not a mind reader as such, but she knows enough that this guy aroused her suspicion. But like I said… she's still alive. I've no idea how genuine the bodies were. And they were found in their offices with sharp implements imbedded in their skulls. That's a pretty obvious cause of death. Nothing like the kind of thing we've been attributing to Kane for the last couple of weeks."

"So he goes quiet for three days, then turns up in a place he really shouldn't be and starts up a whole new avenue of operation." Bobby honestly couldn't decide if he wanted this to be a genuine sighting or not. Exactly where either option would leave Sam. But anything was better than sitting still. Than dwelling on the lack of news.

"Tell me everything."

Bobby returned to Dean's room armed with food and information, preparing himself for the move. The tightening of Dean's mask; of his denial. Ready to watch him retreat a little bit further away from Bobby, from coming out and admitting what they were both thinking. Bobby was ready for that. What he was not prepared for was the bustle of activity that greeted him when he opened the door.

Dean had been drifting, wading through his lethargy all day. The speed and purpose of his movements now took Bobby aback. He wouldn't go as far as to say the light was back in his eyes, but that fierce determination he knew so well was once again present.

"There you are. Where the hell have you been?" Dean barely looked up from the bag he was packing as Bobby walked in. The dog pottered eagerly over to greet him, and the food no doubt, showing a much higher degree of interest in their surroundings than it had for a while, obviously buoyed up by Dean's current mood.

"What's..?" Bobby sat the bag down on the table and watched in amazement as Dean darted past him to retrieve the research material he had left scattered on his bed, clearing everything away. They had barely unpacked, they never did, would never admit to the need to, so the fact Dean was still actively collecting his things together now suggested that whatever he was responding to, had literally just happened.

"Ash called," Dean filled him in briefly. "He's been picking up some weird reports. Caught his eye. Especially since we're kind of in the area."

"What kind of reports?" Bobby's heart was sinking. They heard nothing for days, and now two things came up at once. They were probably both dead ends, but Dean would never forgive himself if he chose the wrong path. It looked like they were finally going to be splitting up.

"Series of murders. All the victims claimed to be mind readers. All of them have sharp metal implements imbedded into the same part of the brain. According to Ash it's the spot most commonly attributed to some kind of psychic ability. Whoever it was they knew what they were doing."

"Wait a minute…"

"He's been looking for traces of the demon, running the patterns and symbols that Dad put together as a way of tracking its appearances."

"And he thinks it's there?" Bobby didn't know if this was good news or not. They weren't really prepared for it either way.

"No. Not now anyway. But Dad flagged up the area in the past as somewhere he thought the demon had been. Back in 1985. And now a string of psychics are ending up dead… I don't know, but it beats sitting around here. And if the demon was involved in Sam's disappearance at all… I can't afford not to go."

"Where?"

"Not too far from here, on the outskirts of San Francisco. All the details are on the counter there, but look... can we talk about this on the move?" They'd been still for too long. Now they again had a potential direction he did not want to waste time. He'd arrived too late too many times recently.

Bobby scanned over Dean's notes with increasing trepidation before handing over his own, the ones from his phone call only minutes before.

"What's this?" Dean asked distractedly, finally relenting and taking the paper from Bobby's outstretched hands. But then his eyes caught the name of the town scrawled across the top of the page. "Wait. What..?"

"Possibly nothing. Someone matching Kane's description turned up some time yesterday. Paid a visit to a registered psychic at her office."

"He killed her?"

"No, last anyone heard she's still very much alive. He just asked a lot of questions. Gave the impression he was checking her out, trying to see if she was legit."

"Is she?"

"Enough to know this guy knew what he was talking about. For it to freak her out to make noise in the right places for it to get back to us, but other than that…" Bobby shrugged.

"God…" They had been busy over the last two weeks, but they had never really encountered anything that sounded promising. That sounded as thought it might lead to something.

But if Kane was in the area… If he was tracking down, possibly killing psychics…

Dean swallowed the thought down heavily,

"Get your things together." He said instead. "We're on the road in five minutes."

TBC

I know it's been a while since we heard from Sam, I just wanted to stress partly how long Dean actually was without him, but mostly that if it wasn't for a set of semi-random completely unintentional circumstances (that shall become clearer) that Sam is kind of at the centre of, they really wouldn't have any idea where he is at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: See other chapters. The ones where I remembered to include one.

**Chapter Thirteen**

The pain in his head was the first thing he became aware of, that constant throbbing ach, and he tried to lose himself back into unconsciousness just to avoid it.

It seemed to work for a little while; at least he seemed to be hovering on the verge of semi-awareness - that blissful empty space that didn't hold the true darkened of unconsciousness, but where his thoughts were still too slow and foggy to cause any major distractions - for much longer than he was usually allowed. Which could only mean one thing.

He was alone.

It wasn't a realisation that held the possibility it once had. It didn't even cause him to strain, to summon up that ever elusive level of strength to open his eyes, to check for sure that he was the only person in the room. There was absolutely nothing he could do about it anyway. Being alone no-longer conjured up images like freedom, opportunity, escape. Instead there was a distracting insecurity, a sudden cold, and the knowledge that if he started hurling again there would be no-one there to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.

But his stomach felt fairly stable for now. At least he assumed it did. Anything that wasn't his throbbing head was still blissfully numb. Had yet to succumb to the pull of waking. Maybe if he didn't move, didn't think, it would be okay. He would be able to drift here a little while longer.

His brain gave a particularly vicious throb and he winced, and even that small action brought an explosion of pain, a white flash before his closed eyes. A keening groan from the back of his throat that woke up his ears.

There was a pressure on his head that he couldn't account for; on it not in it. A weight so heavy it was crippling. Pushed him down into the bed beneath him. He considered briefly moving to try and escape it, but it was a fleeting fantasy; he dismissed it even before it was fully formed, wouldn't waste the energy required for breathing in finishing that train of thought.

He was drifting again, and the next time he emerged from it his body felt a lot more solid on the bed. He could feel it beneath him. He lay unmoving, unthinking for a long time while reality became more fixed around him. His place in it more clear. With a sigh he decided it was perhaps about time he opened his eyes. At least tried to move. The longer he remained locked in one position the harder it would be on his muscles if he asked them to perform for him later.

Opening his eyes made absolutely no difference to the level of darkness. Not at first. Gradually a chink of light appeared in his peripheral vision. The darkness adjusted itself to a heavily muted light. It took an alarming amount of time to figure out there was something in front of his eyes. Even longer to work out what it was. A damp cloth. At least he assumed at one point it had been damp. Now it seemed to be mostly dry.

That, and the fact he seemed to be sprawled in something resembling the recovery position, suggested that Kane had shared the same fear about the vomiting. He needn't have worried though. Throwing up might have been an involuntary reaction, but he was fairly sure it still required much more energy than he currently had.

Gradually he managed to drag his free arm the mile and a half to his face. To pry the covering away from his eyes. The sudden onset of light was blinding, made him momentarily rethink his position on the nausea, but it was soon to pass. Once the shock was over he could see that the room could hardly be called light. But the drawn orange curtains haloed the sunlight into just the right degree of warm haze.

He was lying on his side, and if he lowered his eyes he could see that someone had placed a bin on the floor beside the bed, directly in his line of fire. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about that for a while.

When he opened them again it was to let them roam upwards. To take in the bottle of water on the cabinet beside him, the exact same level as his head. His attention was taken by the bottle of painkillers thought, but there was a post-it-note stuck on the front declaring 'Eat this first – I mean it!' with a large black arrow pointing away to the right. Following this direction with his eyes he found himself looking at a pre-packed chicken salad sandwich. Luckily Kane had thoughtfully already broken through the plastic seal, because there was no way in hell he was going to be able to fight his way in there unaided.

But eating it would also require sitting semi-upright, which was going to take a little more time.

Behind the bottles and the sandwich was a bowel of what looked like water, possibly some fragments of ice, and another cloth similar to the one he had just removed from his face. It conjured up the vague memory of a soothing voice, a gentle touch, of glorious coldness numbing his mind.

He rolled away from his provisions, off his now dead side and onto his back, trying to work the kinks of inaction out of his limbs. The movement was accompanied by a clinking that wasn't just the bedsprings shifting beneath him. But he was used to it now. Hadn't really expected anything different.

He flexed his right ankle, his foot, curled his toes, trying to restore the feeling. He had been sleeping in a position that pulled the chains tight, the shackle dug into his skin, and as he moved it he had to bite his lip to stop the cry from escaping him. From bouncing through this empty room. To hear it echo would only emphasise his loneliness.

The chain was attached to a post at the foot of the bed. It was an unfamiliar bed; he would have remembered the orange. Once upon a time he would have been heartened by that. Would have spent the next few hours, every free minute he had, searching that post for any sigh of weakness. Something that might prove weaker than the last. Might provide him with a way of breaking free. But he had long ago come to the realisation that such action would do nothing other than keep him occupied for the next coupe of hours. Stop his mind from dwelling on the rest of his predicament. To streamline his attention onto that one potentially manageable feat. The crux of the whole situation. The one thing that maybe he could change, and which could change everything.

But even that was no longer enough of a reason to try. Sleep was an equally effective form of distraction. It required less effort, and didn't leave the same bitter aftertaste of inevitable failure. Was something he knew from the outset was within his reach. Was something he could achieve. Would not leave him aching and exhausted.

And he was not foolish enough to believe for a second that Kane would have left him here if there was any way of breaking free. He may as well just conserve his energy for something more productive. For anything at all. He was going to need it again soon.

He couldn't settle his leg into a comfortable position. His ankle was throbbing as badly as his head now he had reminded himself it was there. He was awake now, and his morbid curiosity was overriding his need for rest. Taking a deep fortifying breath he slowly eased himself into a sitting position.

The room span from the sudden move upwards. His muscles shook from the strain of being asked to work after so long at rest. But his destination was such that after he had scooted slightly down the bed he could rest with his head buried in his knees, one arm hugging his left leg for warmth, the other gripping the top frame of the bedrail for stability.

He didn't have to be able to move greatly from there to be able to give his ankle a once-over. A tentative poke that sent him hissing in pain.

The sight of it was slightly disappointing. He'd expected it to have at least swollen to the size of a melon, but then he supposed the chain would have trouble fitting on if that were the case.

The skin around the metal was still red and tender, still broken in places, but while it would never completely heal as long as the biting metal was still in place, it was much better than it had been. Better than was a week ago, before his manic determination had left him. When the attempt to break free had still been worth the blood, the tears, the pain.

But Kane's ointment seemed to be working. It was definitely a lot more manoeuvrable. Didn't look as swollen or infected. He knew that Kane had motivation besides his own wellbeing at heart but that didn't mean he couldn't be grateful. Blood poisoning wasn't high on his list of priorities either.

He sighed, collapsing back on the bed, trying to decide whether he wanted the painkillers badly enough to risk eating the sandwich. He knew Kane was right, he had to at least attempt to stomach something, even if it was just to regain his strength enough to deal with the next round of Kane's experiments. Although things had been quiet on that front as of late. Kane had asked nothing of him for the last four days. Had not touched him except to offer reassurance; not since the visions had begun.

He knew that fact was costing the merchant, even if he would never admit as much out loud. He had heard the angry phone calls. The smooth reassurances of deadlines he knew for a fact that Kane had failed to meet. Not that he would ever discuss it with Sam. But he had never pushed, and Sam couldn't help but feel grateful for that fact. But he was taking extra precaution now to cover their tracks. Was trying to conceal them from more than just Dean, and the fact that he felt the need to do that was somehow terrifying.

The look on Kane's face when he had shaken Sam awake in the middle of the night… The curses and the apologies and self recriminations that Sam had been too groggy still to do as Kane asked… that was among the most frightening experiences of Sam's life. But Kane had scooped him up from the bed like he weighed nothing and hurried him out to the car, leaving his every other possession behind him in the need to get the two of them out of there. He had risked having Sam un-sedated in the passenger seat for three hours before he had felt secure enough to stop, and Sam _knew _that it was not Dean they were running from. Because he knew there was no way the Dean could take Kane by surprise.

And he had also known that he would not have put up a fuss and delayed their departure, even had he been aware enough to do so.

His focus had always been on the evil that Kane represented in the past, the atrocities he enabled. He had never really stopped to consider his buyers. That the people who used these items were perhaps more to be feared than the ones that made them. He put on a tough front, but Sam knew that even Kane did not like having to be around them more than was strictly necessary. At least not any more. Perhaps there was a time when he had enjoyed holding power over them, but that time was past and Kane knew his place. If he was to rebuild he needed his clients as much, if not more than they needed him right now. His reputation was not an effective enough deterrent to play nice, because he had a reputation for having lost everything. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he needed to take some extreme course of action to regain the ground he had lost. Sam could only imagine what he had told Dean that action would be. The kind of claim necessary to make him go to such lengths to keep the two of them apart. To make him give himself over in Sam's place.

But he had done it once and he could do it again; that slow painful process of building a customer base, of re-forging contacts and acquiring ingredients, of making the world remember his name. But he couldn't do it with hunters on his back. Sam had genuinely believed that to be true. Kane had wanted them to back off, because as much as Sam might have been able to provide him with something none of his competitors could rival, he would be running from Dean for the rest of his life. Sam had never intended to merely let Kane go. He had too much experience with what Kane could do to want him loose in the world and strong. He had merely wanted Kane to feel secure enough to go about his business. To leave them alone. Maybe it had been selfish, but he hadn't wanted that man anywhere near him, and if that meant losing track of his whereabouts for a while then Sam was content to live with that. Because they couldn't do anything about him now anyway. They had no plan. And Kane was human. What were they going to do with him if they _were_ in a position to stop him?

But Kane had been watching, had obviously been listening, and Sam hadn't been able to explain this to Dean in time. That they needed to provide Kane with some space, because Sam had known exactly what Kane would do. If he was going to be on the run anyway, if Dean and other hunters were going to continue to pursue him regardless of what he did, then he may as well keep moving with Sam rather than without him. Make use of that one advantage he had over his peers. And the quality and endless quantity of that had allowed his arrogance to return. To deal with clients and ask for prices that without Sam's assistance it would have taken him years to feel secure enough to desire.

But it looked as though that arrogance was starting to cost him now.

Four days. They had reached a point now where Sam wondered idly if he aught to offer. Take some of the heat off that was pressing down on all sides, wondered if Kane was expecting that. If he could bring himself to do it. Live with himself if he did. Ever look Dean in the eye again. If Dean found him. But the truth was, as much as he was loathed to admit it; Sam needed Kane as much as he was needed. Needed the security he provided. Needed there to be no disharmony in his business operations. Because if Kane's operation was raided by the wrong people and the source of his new product was found… Kane had tried to protect him from that truth too, but it didn't take a genius to work out. To see in his every interaction how badly Kane was shielding him.

He needed Sam healthy to do his best work. He needed Sam's blood pure, and he needed to be able to take it in large enough quantities to be effective. To meet demand. And the visions had put a stop to that, because Sam knew that on some level, Kane was afraid of them. Had not been expecting them. Was at least unsure. Was torn between experimenting to see if Sam was more potent while he was in this state, and holding off. Giving in to the genuine fear that if he pushed Sam's body while it was already weak he would do more harm than good. Lose his most valuable asset. The one thing he currently had going for himself.

Sam couldn't be sure if Kane knew what had happened the last time he had had a vision. What the combination of exhaustion and blood loss had done when it was mixed with his powers. Kane had held Dean's essence in his hand, but Sam couldn't be sure if Kane, like him, had experienced a little of what Dean was feeling. If that was perhaps the reason he had been reluctant to continue with his work. But he didn't know how much longer they could afford to wait.

He sighed and turned his attention instead to the ceiling, suddenly wishing that he had not been granted the lucidity to have these thoughts. Life was so much less complicated when it was spent drifting in a haze. When he didn't have to make his own decisions, admit to himself his own level of awareness of his surroundings. That he had maybe grown accustomed to this life. His level of dependence on Kane.

He had lost track of the days he had been gone. How long had passed since he had been sat in that little street café eating pancakes with Dean, watching him squirm under the attention of hordes of middle-aged women. Since he had been thrown into that fence. He didn't think the aches of that would ever go away; but it was hard now to distinguish between them and the general weariness of his body and mind.

Even so, the visions were less draining than whatever Kane had been doing before hand. At least they were over the long term. He couldn't decide whether he preferred this new routine of short bursts of crippling, debilitating pain and fatigue interspersed with stretches of bored alertness, or if the previous constant level of physical and mental exhaustion was easier to cope with. After the first few desperate days of anger, fear and attempted escape, he had settled into a kind of accepting lethargy. The disgust and humiliation were too wearying to keep up, and the longer Kane spent returning to tap into his well the less coherent Sam's world had become. He would never have thought he could have found comfort in that. But to be awake now was only to be awake to his own impotency. His own inability to protect himself from the violation. His inability to get himself off this bed. The chains were just for show now. They had been necessary once, but they were not the things keeping Sam here now. His own body was doing that. Was rebelling against his own desires. His own instincts to fight back. He could not have got up and walked out of this room even if he had been free to do so, and that was perhaps the most humiliating factor in all of this now. Kane could have left him here with a map and a key and a four hour head start and he would not have made it a hundred yards before he was overtaken.

Three months of physiotherapy and he felt more feeble now than he had done when he had started. It was hard not to be disheartened by that.

But the periods between visions were strangely fortifying. Physically at least. A period where his body could be a rest, no longer assaulted from within or without. Mentally they were torture, because for the first time in his life he could do absolutely nothing about them. Even when they had arrived too late there was some small degree of comfort to be found in the fact they had tried. But this time he knew the killing would continue. The body count would rise. And the visions wouldn't stop.

And he was alone.

But at least he didn't have to keep the whole thing to himself. Kane asked questions. With all the detachment of a scientist he put Sam and his visions under the microscope, and his curiosity had been terrifying because Sam didn't know what it was in aid of. Didn't know whether or not he was telling Kane something that would only make his situation worse. But in those random hours late at night when Sam was awake and Kane was feeling strangely talkative… it was hard not to lose himself in the desire for human interaction of any kind. A distraction from the pain and the fear. For a little while at least. And so Sam had talked.

He turned his attention back to the room, anything to avoid having to contemplate the images of violence he saw whenever he closed his eyes. To shake of the dread that it would only be a matter of time before he was assaulted by another. Before he got to watch another person die while he lay here too weak to fix it.

He was lying on a bed in a single room. The walls were wood which conjured up the image of cabin. The door to his room was partially open, so Kane could keep an eye on him while he was here no doubt, and through it he caught a glimpse of a sofa and rich maroon rug. Beyond that a possible kitchen. Through a chink in the curtain he could make out trees. Blue sky. Another wooden structure opposite this one.

A holiday let? That was hardly surprising. It fit the pattern. Kane liked his autonomy. Looked for something a little more high class than the usual motel he and Dean patronised. Something more private. He supposed dragging him unconscious through the lobby of some luxury hotel would perhaps attract a little more attention than they were looking for. Not that he remembered making it into the rooms, just waking up in a variety of different locations, which at least provided him with some novelty value each time he drifted awake; those first few moments of working out just were he was. He supposed Kane had taken to drugging him, something mild that would not remain in his system for too long, not wanting a repeat performance of that first time they had stopped, when Kane had made the mistake of not sedating him and thinking he was already too hurt to fight back. Opening the trunk to get a foot in the face had quickly dispelled Kane of that opinion, but unfortunately Sam remembered very little after that for close to two days.

But he was aware enough to know they moved around a lot. Aware enough to know why. It was another thing that Kane never mentioned to him, but he knew that Dean was looking for him. He didn't know how successful his search was proving to be; whether they were moving because Kane had places to be and people to see, or because Dean was getting too close. He wanted to believe it was the latter, but Kane didn't look especially harassed. At least he hadn't until a few nights ago. And there was another part of him that didn't like the thought of Dean pursuing Kane at all. He had never doubted for a moment that he would do. It was what would happen if he ever caught up with them that Sam was less sure about.

Thinking about Dean was a sure way to fire up the depression, but it always helped to pass the time. God he must be frantic. He had thought he hadn't wanted Dean to barge through the door and find Sam still covered in his own blood; had thought he would have given anything to avoid that scene. But walking into that empty motel room must have been so much worse. Sam wished so badly that he had been able to spare Dean that.

He wanted to believe that his being taken by Kane meant that Dean was safe, but even in his most incoherent moments Sam had never believed that. He wished it was true. Wished he could find some comfort in that every time Kane came near him. Every puncture of that needle. Every time he watched the blood flow. But he knew his brother too well for that. Knew that Dean would never stop until the search destroyed him; and it would, either way. His brother's devotion to him had buoyed Sam up, had kept him going for so long but now it was the very fact that would get Dean killed. It was a strange feeling, because Sam didn't want to have to believe for a second that Dean would abandon him here, but he didn't want to contemplate the fact that he wouldn't either. The kind of life Dean must be leading now because of him. The fate that would await him when Kane again grew tired of running. Felt secure enough in his operations to stand still. Was pushed into making that grand gesture he had threatened, but which Sam could sense he had never really wanted to have to see through.

And that was perhaps the source of his greatest frustration. Because he knew that while Dean would do everything he could, unless Kane was caught having an incredibly bad day, Dean would not be able to take him by surprise. Kane had taken great pleasure in informing Sam of that. How he knew exactly where Dean was. Could easily stay a few steps ahead of him. As though that had been Dean's fault. As though Sam was supposed to resent Dean for that, that Kane would exploit his loss in that way.

So it was unlikely, despite his determination, that Dean would be able to succeed alone. That while he could lie here and wait for the rescue that was on its way, he really didn't want it to actually get here. If this was going to end well for either of them, then Sam was going to have to take some action to save himself. Which was ludicrous, because he had been awake an hour and was still not sure if he wanted to risk sitting up again.

But the post vision headache was clearing. The lethargy was wearing off. And Kane was still absent. There was no sound at all from the rest of the house. No sound of industrious working, of angry visitors or calls. If there was any time for Sam to at least attempt to plan it was now, while his mind was at its clearest. The clearest it had been for days. If Kane was going to let him be between each vision, then he might as well take advantage of that fact. Grab onto the pause in the bloodletting to at least try and regain the strength to get out of these chains. To think of something. Because all he could see out of the window was trees. Kane had no method of tracking him other than his eyes, and Sam had learnt from an early age how to hide. He'd been trained by a frigging marine. So maybe he didn't have to get much more than a hundred yards before Kane came after him. Maybe he only needed to make it to the tree line. To the neighbouring cabin.

But that was if he could ever get this damn manacle off his foot.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, knowing he would have been hard pushed to have been feeling less so, Sam finally struggled into a sitting position, propping his pillow behind him. There was enough give in the chains for him to be able to sit at the head of the bed without having to keep his leg stretched unnaturally straight. That probably gave him a 5ft wandering radius around the bed. 11ft when you took into account his height. Over 13 given the reach of his arms. And how heavy could this bed be? There must be something, somewhere, a pin in the floorboards would do, that would get this stupid lock off him.

But that whole plan hinged on the ability to get off this bed, and that seemed a little far fetched at the moment.

Which was where the sandwich and water came in. Stage one of an incredibly ill-defined plan: rebuilding the strength to contemplate a stage two.

He took the painkillers too. At least, he took them from the bottle. It was a trade off. He wanted his mind clear but Kane would not touch him with drugs in his system, so if the merchant believed he had taken them he was safe from interference for a while longer. He would just have to ride out the pain. He would keep them close. Take them if the alternative was going to be migraine nausea, because that would hardly be conductive to escape.

In the battle between the metal bed frame and his foot Sam knew his ankle was going to be the weakest link. It would be easier to get the chain off his foot than break the bed. Not that it was going to be easy. Fortunately the skin around his ankle was already so battered that Kane was unlikely to notice the extra attention. Unfortunately that might also make the pills more necessary.

He sighed again and turned his attention more fully to the sandwich in front of him. It was slightly warm now, making him wonder just how long he'd been here, and it was less than appetising. But he would not falter on stage one of his plan. The only manageable stage.

He let his eyes continue their exploration of the room, hunting out anything small and thin that he could possibly use. Not that he thought for a moment that Kane had left him with a lock that could be easily picked.

Okay, so stage one had been completed, but it turned out chewing required energy and he wanted to lie down again. Plus the water had made him need to pee, so now he was kind of hoping Kane would hurry up and come back. The plan was going to take much longer than he'd originally thought.

But just before he gave in to the urge to sleep – he needed to regain his strength for the sake of the plan, and he needed to hit sleep before his bladder got to just the wrong side of irritating – his eyes caught sight of something that surprised him.

He had left the wrapper the sandwich had come in discarded on the table by his head, and on the label was the name of the shop where Kane had bought it. The name and the address.

He wasn't sure how to account for it; whether it was coincidence or something more, but he couldn't help his opinion of Kane shifting slightly as he took it in. He didn't seem like an altruistic kind of a guy, his motives would hardly be pure, but what other reason could there be behind their being in San Francisco?

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: As before

When I planned this story I'd seen very little of series two. I know most of you will probably have seen the finale - I haven't but even I know that this is probably slightly AU by now. But let me at least try to explain where I was going with this. I wasn't really aware that all the other 'children' like Sam were supposed to be the same age – Rosie blatantly wasn't, and there could be a difference between the demon having been hibernating for 22 years before the pilot, and John just not having been able to find it. Especially in the first few years after Mary's death when he was no doubt still adjusting to his knew life and knowledge. So Sam is having visions and the demon was here in 1985. Go with it.

Also, I have no idea how much of Sam's story Bobby knows but I'm working on the theory that if Sam told Ellen then its only fair Bobby knows too.

**Chapter Fourteen**

They caught wind of the third murder while they were still a couple of hours out. Bobby heard it over the radio in the gas station when he went in to pay, and he hovered so long staring at the confectionaries while he waited to listen to the full report that he caused Dean to storm in looking for him to see what the hold up was.

It was late when they finally pulled into town but they headed straight over to the scene of the crime anyway, not wasting the time to shower or rest. They had been on the road for hours but both felt they had already wasted too much time over the last couple of days standing still. And they had never been so close behind the action before. They had missed this murder by hours, not days, and while they knew if it was Kane behind these deaths he could get a long way in a few hours, he had not fled town after the last two. There was every possibility he was still here. And while the nature of these deaths was making them increasingly nervous, they could only hope that if Kane was here, that meant Sam was somewhere in the area too.

But they did dump Bobby's truck in a parking lot a short way in, wanting to limit the number of suspicious new vehicles crawling around the area. Bobby transferring to the Impala meant the dog had to be relegated from his position as navigator into the back seat, where Dean had spread an assortment of stolen towels in an attempt to protect the upholstery, given 'little' Dean was not quite so little anymore, and a knee was no-longer an adequate source of protection. And Dean had been lacking an extra knee, and he didn't think Bobby would exactly be in the mood to humour Dean enough to sit with it on top of him quite as willingly as Sam had.

From the volume Black Sabbath was blaring out of the speakers when Dean turned the engine back on Bobby figured that his assumptions had been correct, and Dean was again back on form now he had a destination and a mission in mind. But while Sam would probably have been able to tell if Dean's tight grip on the steering wheel was a usual sign of his eagerness for the hunt or a manifestation of some badly repressed nervous rage, Bobby was still unsure. But he knew better than to draw attention to it.

They stopped at a payphone to find the address of the victim's office, and both were struck by the number of practicing psychics and fortune tellers there were working in the area. It wasn't hard to work out when they were in the right place however; the amount of yellow tape surrounding the building saw to that.

There was an incredibly young officer on duty, no doubt given the task of guarding the crime scene during the night because no-one else wanted to, and Dean would have felt sorry for him was he not too inexperienced to provide much of a challenge to anyone with his level of experience at breaking into crime scenes.

Dean could smell the blood the second he entered the building, and he was glad Bobby was ahead of him and had not turned to see him gag. He was yet to actually see anything, and situations like this had not fazed him so badly in the past. But something about this was unsettling. Something about every one of the occurrences they had investigated over the past two weeks was unsettling, and it wasn't hard to figure out what that was. The fear that every death they investigated, every body they checked would be Sam. Because surely it was only a matter of time.

The woman's office was dark and atmospheric, and thick heavy drapes hung from the windows, but with the officer still prowling around outside they were reluctant to use anything but the most limited light. That would make the search for clues harder, but Dean couldn't help but be grateful that meant he couldn't see the full force of the red for what it really was. That bright shocking colour he still couldn't get off his mind, still felt staining his hands, his cloths, his all.

One day it would happen. He would walk into a room and be confronted by that same red, and maybe he dreaded it, but maybe it would be just a little bit of a relief too. To have that final answer. To know that it was over. That whatever horrors he had spent the last two weeks imagining no-longer mattered, because they couldn't touch Sam now. Nothing could. And he would be free to go after Kane with everything he had, because that nagging voice of logic in the back of his head telling him he would be no use to Sam by getting himself killed could finally be shut off. And maybe it was the brief moment of thinking that, less time than a heartbeat, which accounted for the nausea. Because Dean had spent a lifetime watching out for Sam, and how else was his body supposed to react to the fact his mind could betray him in this way. Could want to cancel out 24 years of need in one stupid moment of weakness.

He didn't want Bobby to see because he didn't want to admit these thoughts. Because he didn't want to hear that it was okay to have them. That Bobby had them too.

With effort he wrenched his mind away from them to focus on the job at hand. Any clue that might have been left to suggest that Kane was behind this. That might possibly lead to where he had gone. The police had already been over the scene. Anything obvious would probably already have been uncovered. Possibly removed. But it wouldn't do to dwell on that.

And there was one very obvious item still remaining.

Moving away from the bloodstains, leaving Bobby investigating the signs of a struggle, Dean moved out of the more showy faux mystic room where readings obviously took place and into a back office beyond. The room was surprisingly sterile and minimalist given the clutter of the space he had just left. But it was also modern. And sitting on a desk in pride of place in the middle of the room, was a computer.

Luck was on their side and as this room was tucked out of the way, obviously not meant to be seen by the visiting public, it had no windows. There was no need to worry about the light the screen gave off potentially alerting anybody outside that they were here.

Sam usually dealt with this side of things, but luckily the woman that had owned this had about the same level of expertise as Dean. There was no password and files were neatly labelled, and it didn't seem to be used for much of anything anyway. Just a few notes on certain cases that had caught her eye, some info on the trade and, Dean seriously couldn't believe his luck given the past two weeks they'd had, an electronic copy of her appointments diary.

He printed off a copy of the last month's clients, the noise of which immediately got Bobby barrelling through the door, a large gun that Dean hadn't even noticed him carrying now raised and swinging wildly for the source of the disturbance. He wilted sheepishly under Dean's amused gaze.

"Client files." He explained, retrieving the list from the printed. "You find anything in there?" he nodded to the door Bobby was drawing closed, trying to conceal the noise and vague light as best he could. Hopefully Bobby had completed his sweep of the other room before Dean had disturbed him. He knew it was irrational but he really didn't want to have to go back out there. To take in the scene in full.

"There's not really much to see. According to the news report it happened early this morning, before she opened for business. But the only signs of a struggle are in that one room. The doors weren't forced. Whoever did this, it looks like she let them in. Led them through to her studio. She wasn't expecting it."

"Her appointments didn't start until 10am. She was already dead then. And it's a pretty obvious way to get caught – make an appointment to come in and kill someone. But if she let them in maybe they had been a customer at some point." He went back to the machine and sent the printer up and running again.

"What are you after now?"

"Appointments for the last couple of months. Looks like she had some regulars, but the killings only stared up within the last week. Maybe somebody new showed up within that time."

"That's a lot of names to check through."

Dean sighed watching the printer churn out page after page. This was going to be incredibly boring. Especially if they managed to track down the clients of the other victims to cross check. It was for cases like this that he usually kept a geek around.

"From what we could tell" Bobby continued to muse, collecting the info as Dean was printing it, "The killer was targeting genuine mind readers. Seemed to be checking them out before hand if this source of Bill's is anything to go by… and yet each of the victims lets their killer in. If they really were mind readers… they weren't very good…"

"Maybe…"

"What are you thinking?"

"Well… Dad flagged up this area. And it was Ash that put me onto it. I just can't help but feel the demon has something to do with this, even if not directly."

"Then how…?"

"I told you about Andy, right? The guy got me babbling like a lunatic. But Sam… Completely unaffected. And it's not like he was even trying…"

"You think the killer's like this guy Andy? Like… like Sam?"

"It could explain the demon's presence."

"But not why they're targeting psychics."

"At least not directly." Whether he wanted to believe it or not, with the exception of the sixth month old baby, every other one of these kids he'd met had killed someone. "But it might explain why Kane's here. And why he seems to be looking into this too."

"You think he's looking for a new toy?"

"Maybe…" Was that a daunting prospect or not? It would mean Kane was somewhere in the area, but if he was searching for a new plaything… Was it possible he had broken his old one?

"The police are going to be following the same leads." Bobby pointed out hopefully, "We could…"

"They're gonna be running a different kind of back check." Dean pointed out. "I think… We're going about this the wrong way. Rather than trying to find Kane, or trying to find out who killed these people, maybe we should be focusing our attention somewhere else. Somewhere Kane probably isn't going to think to look."

"Like?"

"The names of all the kids that turned 6 months old during August 1985. How many of those are still in the area. It also wouldn't hurt to find this woman who may or may not have seen Kane. I've got a still of the image taken off those surveillance cameras" the police had their uses, even if they had contributed nothing since, "it might be worth asking around… seeing if anyone else has had a visit and just not thought to mention it. Or not known who to mention it too."

"You want to start sweeping hotels and apartments again too, search for Kane that way? Or do you wanna focus on this kid? If Kane's looking for him too…"

"Kane's already proved he's not going to be easy to find. This kid might just be the weak link in all this. And this close to the city… seriously, how many possible lodgings must there be? It'd be like looking for a needle in a haystack searching for Kane here. But I still want to know for sure it was him."

"If it was he got here at least two days ago. There probably aren't many potential victims he hasn't already checked."

"I know, but I think we should try a few anyway. You never know… if one of them was a genuine psychic…"

"I think if they caught wind of the idea the guy sat opposite them had a hostage locked away somewhere it would have been on the news by now."

"I'm not saying I don't think Kane would have been guarded with his thoughts, but anything someone might have picked up about his methods or intentions..."

"You know, most of the numbers in that book are probably complete charlatans right?"

"Humour me." He knew Bobby would. Bobby would follow his lead on this. He would say something if he thought Dean's methods insane or if he was missing something obvious, but for the most part he would allow Dean to take control. His tactics were still glaringly obvious, but the vote of confidence was appreciated all the same.

"We should get out of here." Dean spoke up, shutting off the machine, "There's nothing else to see." He's had a quick look at the client notes but none of them had screamed psycho murderer. That would have been worthy of at least a paragraph he was sure.

"You want to check out the body before we call it a night?" He really didn't. "I could swing by it myself while you grab a motel; get a head start on those names." Bobby offered casually, not wanting to alert Dean to the fact he had noticed that he'd avoided every body or attack site as much as he could over the past weeks. Bobby couldn't blame him, they had unnerved him a little too, but it would make Dean self conscious to realise he had not been hiding it as well as he'd intended. But when there was a very real threat that each body, each victim was Sam, his trepidation was only to be expected.

"I thought the cause of death was pretty obvious." Dean picked up the conversation when they were far enough away from the building and the patrolling officers to speak clearly again. "Pointy thing to the brain. What more do you expect to learn?"

"I don't know. But there might be a clue as to what kind of power this kid has, because whatever it is, we're going to be vulnerable to it too."

"Okay." Dean relented, "I'll take you back to your car then I'll go grab a room. I don't was to waste any time with this so I'll get looking at these things tonight. Call me when you're done and I'll let you know where to find us," Dean relented, trying to stop the dog from climbing forward into the driver's seat to greet him. He wanted to move quickly. He didn't doubt that Kane was still monitoring his whereabouts. He didn't want to admit it, but it was possible he would have to stand back if they ever got a definite location for Kane. Allow him to believe that they were still looking in the wrong places while someone else finished this for him. He hated that he might be denied an active part in any confrontation, but if it was the only way to get Sam back then he would not waste the energy getting upset about it, because compared with some of the other things he would be willing to do for Sam, sitting back and playing decoy was the least extreme. So why would it prove to be the most difficult.

But finding this potential kid was the closest they had ever got, and hopefully they could move with enough speed on this that they would see results before Kane grew skittish about their presence and bolted again. Whatever Kane had wanted from Sam had been worth suffering Dean's wrath to acquire, worth the endless pursuit. He felt guilty just considering it, but hopefully whatever it was would be worth the risk to stay for. Kane would no doubt be extra vigilant knowing Dean was in town but, and Dean hated himself for thinking it because he could already picture the scandalised look on his brother's face, if they found this kid he was the idea bait. The one thing Dean could almost guarantee that Kane would make an appearance for. He wouldn't go as far as to let his mind contemplate the idea of a trade, even if this guy did seem to be a murdering bastard. Not because he would have to live with Sam bitching about it for the rest of his life – he was more than willing to put up with that – but because Sam would have to live with the decision too. And Dean would spare him the reason to brood if there was any other way.

After leaving Bobby he went to the nearest cheapest motel he could find. The quality didn't matter; it wasn't as if he actually intended to sleep in it. Plus it had to let him keep the dog. It was beyond late by the time he finally got settled, but he wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he'd had the time to spare. He almost couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way. It must be months now. Perhaps the day they had spent looking over witness reports was the last time. Cross checking what they already knew with the information their father had passed down to them. And then his life had ended that night in the alley; and he had never thought he would be able to feel it again.

That tingling sense of excitement. Of holding something in his hands that was achievable and fixable and real. The thrill of the chase. But it was more than that, because he had been chasing for a long time recently. Following an ever more elusive trail. And that feeling of rightness had never returned, so it was surprising to realise what it was that he was feeling now.

It was hope.

He had been running on empty for so long, desperately waiting for some kind of sign. Proof that he wasn't deluding himself. Wasn't wasting Bobby's time, endangering lives. That there was more to his belief that Sam was still alive than his own stubborn inability to contemplate otherwise. To lie down and accept it.

He had wanted evidence so badly; and Sam had given it to him. It might not have been the kind of evidence he'd wanted, the kind of thing he had wanted to contemplate, ever again, but Sam had given it all the same.

Because he knew for sure now that his brother was still alive. There was close to no way Kane would have been here, would have put two and two together about these deaths, if Sam had not done the maths for him. If Sam had not had a vision to clue Kane in. He had dreaded it for so long that Dean never thought he would be grateful to know his brother's powers were again making themselves known. Sam must have had a vision, and the after affect had not been the scene of devastation that Dean had been aching to avoid, because the sheer fact that Kane must know what he had seen spoke clearly of the fact Sam had emerged on the other side relatively unscathed. But these powers, the very reason Kane had taken him in the first place, would perhaps be the only thing that enabled them to find him. And Dean would prove it to him; would look Sam in the eye and tell him in no uncertain terms that they could make these visions _matter._ That they could make a difference, even if it wasn't the one Sam had been intending to make.

Before getting too engrossed in the client list Dean unpacked his brother's laptop, one for the few possessions of Sam's that had not disappeared into the black hole of their trunk awaiting his return. That and the sweater he had taken out because it was still so imbued with his brother's scent. For the dog. A comfort blanket for the comfort blanket. Something to make sure it didn't forget.

And the paperback that had been on Sam's bedside table when he'd packed away their things. That had somehow made it into Dean's bag. But Sam wouldn't mind. He always said Dean didn't read enough.

The fact he was using Sam's shampoo was perhaps less easy to explain. Unfortunately he had not yet had to.

By the time Bobby called him Dean and the internet had compiled a list of all the hospitals and clinics in the area that might hold records of births that had occurred here during the first two weeks of February 1985. He wanted it ready for the morning so they could get straight down to business.

Bobby had nothing more to tell him than they'd already guessed. The cause of death was a letter opener through the skull. He'd compared it with the reports he'd found on the other two victims and it was identical placement, only the objects embedded varied. The first had been a pen. The second a screwdriver. It seemed the killer was using items found at the scene.

But one important fact that Bobby had been able to note: like the crime scene, the body also displayed signs of a struggle. Whoever had done this had not been able to fling the murder weapon with such precision from afar, and had not been able to will their victims into submission.

Dean couldn't help but think if they had a specific ability that would have made either the murder or incapacitation easier, then they would have used it. So should he be relieved that whoever they were looking for did not have a particularly active power, something that could be turned against him, or more concerned that maybe it was just a run of the mill wacko behind this? That the whole psychic ability angle was just an elaborate smokescreen. Dean grasping at straws wanting this to be something he could use, something that could help lead him to Kane and Sam.

Well, he didn't doubt that he would find out one way or another soon enough. But there was still something about this that felt right. For the first time since he had been wading through their soaking motel carpet Dean actually felt as though Sam was close. That not only where they back on the trail, but where once again in the same zip code. There had been enough coincidences that had led them here – if the killer didn't have some kind of psychic power that just threw in another one, and Dean was not a huge believer in coincidences.

By the time Dean's sense of purpose had died down enough to allow him to sleep they were in possession of another two lists. One of the names of all this last victim's regular clients, with those that had appointments within the timeframe of the murders highlighted. The second of all those newcomers within the past month. If it was a local kid that had recently come into his abilities, then Dean could only hope they'd been arrogant enough because of them to use their real name. He didn't know how logical that was. But if they had come into powers this close to a suburb with an inordinate amount of practicing and advertising psychics, maybe they had gone to one of them for help. For information. If that was the case Dean could only wonder what the hell they had been told that would lead them to murder.

It might have been brief, but Dean got perhaps the most restful sleep that he'd been granted since Sam had disappeared. Even with the wealth of new leads he was eager to pursue his brain allowed itself to be switched off long enough not to plague him with jumbled empty angles, to taunt him with what his wasted efforts could be costing his little brother.

They split up after breakfast. Both had wanted an early start but had to wait until their destinations were open before they could continue, so they whiled away the time in-between on breakfast. Bobby got his first indication of not just how much emotional stock Dean had riding on this day, but how much be believed in a successful outcome, by the amount of food he managed to plough through, and also the amount of time he spent staring at the waitress that had given it them. He didn't know whether Dean's confidence was a good thing or not. Anything that threw off that lethargy that had been painful to watch could only be a good thing. Dean brooding and still was just not natural. But he wasn't sure if this new confidence was any better. Partly because he didn't share it. Yes they looked to be onto something, something more solid than they had in weeks, but that didn't mean it was going to come to anything. Be any less of a dead end than the rest. And that wall when they hit it would be devastating. Bobby couldn't help but wish Dean had never allowed himself to hope, because if it proved to be unfounded, the rebound would floor him. He would not pick himself back up from that. And the decent into his own bubble of worthlessness would be deeper and more complete than ever before.

They split up after breakfast, and this time the dog went with Bobby. Both Dean's were strangely affected by this. One because he had not allowed the little creature to leave his side since it had got here, partly through some fierce need to prove that he could keep it safe, that Sam could trust him to look after it, and partly through the paranoia that he really couldn't, and if it wandered off for even a second he would never see it again. And how would he explain that to Sam when he found him?

Bobby was surprised with the way their jobs had been allotted. Dean would go to the hospital and try to plough through the birth records for the area, hoping to track down their mystery kid, while Bobby took on the psychics. He was glad he didn't have to be cooped up indoors all day reading files, but he had expected Dean to be the one to take the more active, hands on role. He had managed to find the name of the woman who had alerted them to Kane's possible presence, and he would show her the photo to make sure it really was him. Get any other information she could remember. Then he would try and have a similar conversation with as many different psychics as he could find.

Depending on the first woman's answer this could either be a really long or a really short day. Maybe he would be joining Dean in his medical records search sooner than they had expected, and he realised then that was exactly why Dean had wanted him to be the one to question this woman. Because Dean didn't think he could take it if she looked at that picture of Kane and said it wasn't him. Didn't trust himself not to break down in a stranger's company if it had been proved his hopes were for nothing. Which was hell of a burden to place on Bobby – the decision of when to tell him if that happened – but he was here to do the ground work and help take the strain. They would cross that bridge whe… _if_ they came to it.

So while Bobby left to get them a definitive answer about Kane, Dean lied and sweet talked his way into hospital record archives. He was reminded of the time they had done this back in Salvation, when there had been three of them searching in that one town. Sam's vision had made life a whole lot easier then. He just hoped they wouldn't allow Kane to just walk in and grab the kid while they did the long slow investigative process. Because this close to such a major city Dean didn't know where to end his search. The evidence of the demon their father had acquired and Ash had verified seemed to focus on this particular area, but that didn't mean the kid had been born here when there were bigger, better hospitals in the city.

But he would work with what he had for now, and when Bobby got tired of talking to faux-mystic types the work here would be halved.

He usually hated jobs like this. The more physical the better. Tracking and stalking and adrenaline fuelled takedowns were what Dean lived for, not this slow tedious information gathering. It always made him so antsy. Split his mind half between what he was doing, and half imagining all the other, more exciting things he _could_ be doing. It was one of those things he had never understood about Sam. They had shared the same upbringing; at least they had after the fire. Dean was the one who'd at least had a taste of normal, so why was it Sam who could sit still for hours barely glancing up from the page while Dean itched to just get out there and kill something.

But today it wasn't the case. Today all of his pent up energy and frustration was being channelled directly into the task at hand. Because no job had ever been more important, more personal. There was not even a small corner of his brain that refused to shut off the contemplation of better things he could be doing with his time. Which was ironic really, because it turned out there was something.

He had just started on his third office when Bobby eventually called. He had been trying not to think about it, wondering whether or not he would have rung to confirm a legitimate Kane sighting straight away or waited until he had more to share. Now he had his answer.

"You get visual confirmation?" Dean asked, heart in his throat as he awaited Bobby's response, more aware than ever just what was riding on this. "You get her to confirm Kane's actually here?"

"Oh I got more than that." Bobby sounded pleased with himself; Dean could practically see his half smirk over the phone. "I got an address."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Tipping the Scaled**

**By Floralia**

I felt mean leaving it there so I'm posting this one now, although if possible I will probably feel meaner for leaving you with the end of this one… Especially since I've caught myself up now and haven't finished writing the next one yet…

I confused even myself in the first section so brief note – personal pronouns with a capital are Sam. (Apart from one at the beginning of a sentence but we can't have everything).

**Chapter Fifteen**

The apartment was stylishly furnished. A shadow was moving through the kitchen, just slightly to the left of His vision. Hiding out of frame. But He could see the hand that reached forwards to pick the knife out of the rack and it was frighteningly solid. All too real. He could feel the intention, the malice that rolled of it in suffocating waves.

A second figure was pacing the living room. Was in a hurry. Looked immaculately dressed. It disappeared for a moment, then returned from a door in the far wall doing up a tie. With its attention so fixed on that small action it didn't see the prowling shadow until it was almost on him. Didn't see the knife until it was sweeping towards him. A blow meant to hurt, not to kill. He could tell that. Wished that He didn't know the difference but He did.

Well dressed man took the bait and raised his arms to defend himself, and the pain of the knife slicing through his skin distracted him long enough for his assailant to latch on. To take hold. To try to struggle him downwards. Incapacitated on the floor. But the guy was stronger than he looked. Put up more of a struggle than He had expected. Than He wanted to see. They lost their footing and his back went through a glass coffee table in the centre of the room. The only use for such tables seemed to be braking people's falls.

The attacker was on him then. All black clothes and darting limbs and refusing to remain in His line of sight. Refusing to be seen. But he was kneeling on the other man's chest now. Pinning. Not speaking. No taunting. Business. Knife tracing through the fallen man's hair. He was less quiet. Pleading. Screaming. Begging. But it didn't matter. They all knew what was coming. He wasn't even there and He knew what was coming. Had seen it before, more times than He would have liked.

But He couldn't look away. Couldn't block it out. Couldn't close His eyes and wish it away. His eyes were probably already closed. And when the tracing knife found the exact spot it wanted there was one tiny, glorious, infinite pause in which they could all resolve themselves for what was to come. And then the knife plunged. Through skin through skull through brain. It was a sharp knife; its wielder was strong. He couldn't be sure but He thought that final clunk might even have been the tip embedding into the hardwood beneath them. Because the knife had been that long.

The victim didn't scream. Probably didn't last long enough to. Was dead the instant the knife pierced his brain. But Sam screamed for him. Screamed like that man must have wanted to. Like it was happening to him in some sickening slow motion. Like that blade was being plunged into his own brain and being given a good, hard, twist, mixing up his thought processes until all there was were those dead cold eyes boring into his flesh. The glint of the knife. The shadow of movement, of a figure retreating shown in the reflection of a blade.

Then the pain was such that there was only white, and the sound of his own guttural screams.

"Sam?" Hands on his shoulders and his whole body buckled at the touch. No logic, just the instinctual need to fight back. To get away from the firm grasp that held him. That grabbed his swinging arms and held them firmly against his chest. Incapacitated and useless and he knew what was to come.

Only it wasn't the glint of cold metal he felt against his skin, against his hair. It was a cool touch. A stroking hand. A caress. A shushing motion, a shushing sound that stilled the thrashing, and he was aware now of more than just the blinding pain in his head and the white. He was aware of his heart, beating so hard in his chest that it hurt. The rising feeling of nausea he had to swallow hard to keep at bay. And that voice. The voice was back.

"Shhh Sam. It's okay. It's over. Come on, open your eyes now. I need you to open your eyes."

No. No way. If he opened them he would see again. See that blank naked stare. If he opened them he would see, and there was a chance he could be seen. It was better to hide here in the steadily decreasing light.

"Shhh, it's okay I'm here. But you have to tell me what happened. You have to come back. You have to open your eyes." And there was a cold dampness on his forehead now like ice, numbing yet bringing clarity. And he knew he wasn't in that apartment. Had never been in that apartment. And he could feel the bed beneath him and the chains around his foot and the weight of a second figure sitting on the side of the bed. And the hands and the voice belonged to that weight.

"Dean… De" but he knew before he said it that it wasn't his brother's voice or touch, wasn't his brother's presence hovering at his side, but at least Kane was kind enough not to deny it. To give him those few peaceful moments of feeling loved and protected before he opened his eyes again and reality set in.

And when they were open the room came back in a rush and the last vestiges of the vision fled from him, and he could feel himself literally sag into the bedcovers, and he marvelled that he had had the energy to fight because now even opening his mouth to talk felt like too much. Keeping his eyes open was too much of a chore. But as they drifted closed he could feel a gentle tapping at his cheeks and that voice was back, more insistent now.

"Stay with me. Tell me what you saw. You can sleep in just a few minutes but first you have to tell me what you saw."

He doesn't want to. Doesn't want to have to share his vulnerability with this man. Doesn't want to relive it. But he knows Kane is right. Kane needs to know. So he tells him. Not about the violence. Not about the struggle. Not about the sound a knife makes as it plunges through someone's skull, yet another thing he wished he never knew. But about the apartment. The view from the window. The time on the clock. He conjures up that image again and focuses on all the other things he had not been able to concentrate on before. That the noise and the pleading and the brutality had dragged his attention away from.

And when he's finished Kane pats his shoulder, nods his head, and walks out of the room without another word. Moments later he leaves the cabin for good; Sam can hear the external doors opening and closing, then the rumble of an engine, and he knows he's alone. Alone with only the lingering ghosts of this last vision to keep him company until the merchant's return.

He no-longer wants to close his eyes again. He doesn't like what he knows will be waiting for him in the darkness there. The shock and the violation and the wrenching sense of being dragged away from his own body, his own sense of time and space, are wearing off now. It's leaving him shaking and exhausted but he is complete. He can breath through the discomfort, let his body calm, and he can carry on. He's done it before. That's how this works.

He doesn't want to sleep. He wants to be active. The visions leave him drained, but also with the burning desire to do something. To act on what he's seen. To spare that man that fear and that pain. To spare himself from it. To know he at least didn't see it for nothing. To provide himself with that selfish level of comfort that maybe if he can stop this one, find the killer, then maybe he won't have to see another.

He can't comfort himself with that action. But he knows now that Kane is trying to do it for him. That the first vision freaked him out because Sam had neglected to mention that he had them. It wasn't the sort of thing that usually came up in conversation, even with a man like Kane, so the moaning and the writhing and the spacing out must have taken him a little bit by surprise. In his generosity he had given Sam a day to recover, but obviously he'd had another, and by the then Kane had figured out it was unlikely they'd stop on their own.

He'd asked Sam what he normally did about them, expecting an answer along the lines of some restorative herbal tea or a spot of meditating to shut them out. Had merely rolled his eyes at the assertion that he usually tried to stop them from happening, blanched slightly at the notion he would do this even when there was no obvious gain in it for himself, and then bitched slightly about people with gifts they were too ignorant to understand.

He had told Kane about the visions because it was easier at first than keeping them in. Because it was refreshing to talk about it with someone who potentially understood it, might see beyond the surface of it. Someone who wouldn't listen and nod and reassure while at the same time wishing fervently that they didn't have to do all of the above. Didn't have to act like this didn't bother them at all.

Kane would get it done. He was taking his time about it, no doubt about that, but he would get it done. He was more than capable. And he had the incentive that Sam was near useless to him until he did. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that Kane genuinely wanted to save these people. Even that he genuinely wanted to save Sam, spare him from having to endure them any more. Kane wanted to save himself. Wanted access to Sam's blood again without the fear of hurting him.

But he also wasn't naive enough not to know that in doing that, Kane would be saving them both.

So he wanted Kane to deal with this. Wanted him to save the man he had seen. But he was also terrified about what might happen when he did. Partly what Kane would do with the killer – he had so far neglected to mention that it was likely whoever did this had abilities similar to his own. He wasn't sure if Kane had figured it out. How that could influence what he chose to do with them when he caught them. If it had been something obvious like telekinesis or mind control then he would have mentioned it so that Kane was more prepared, but he could hold his own against a killer that was purely physical.

But when this was over Kane would have to make up for lost time. Would have backdated contracts to fulfil, and they would have to be extra special to have been worth the wait. And that didn't bode well for Sam. For the level of strength and lucidity he had developed over the last few days. Because while the visions were more draining than he remembered, they weren't constant. They were more intensive than they had been, but then they had never been allowed to continue for this long before. And it wasn't just the murders he would see. Over the last couple of days there had been flashes of planning them. Shorter, less colourful, holding barely any information at all, but not any less painful.

His mind and body had grown accustomed to this routine. And it also meant he was left alone for large parts of the day. That had been unsettling at first, because even in the haze of drugs or blood loss it had been a comfort to know there was someone else nearby, even if he knew who that someone was. Because Kane might be exploiting him, might be abusing him, but in a sick way Sam knew Kane would never actually hurt him. Not any more than was necessary. Because he needed Sam to be healthy and whole.

Kane always went out of his way to make sure Sam would eat; cajoling with a gentleness that would take him aback. That would remind him of Dean and of Jess and those first few months when he had been torn between hunting and shutting down completely. And he couldn't take the kindness, couldn't take that it was genuine, that Kane couldn't see that it hurt more than a life of darkness and torture and chains. The life he had expected. The life he had prepared himself for in the trunk of that car when he had prayed Kane's journey would never end. That he would never see their destination.

He had wanted to rage and scream, had thought that Kane had wanted that too. It hurt that he was allowed to be weak; that it was expected. That time and Kane had stolen that ability from him, and both of them had seemed to lament the loss of it. Not because Kane thrived on the discomfort he cause Sam, but because his arrogance somehow appreciated the challenge. Had been excited by the prospect that Sam might not be cowed. And he remembered their first real meeting in that red hued basement, when he had been regarded with something bordering on admiration. A fascinating specimen that Kane had wanted to tame without breaking. Because Sam couldn't help but get the impression he was of more use than he had currently shown; only he didn't think Kane could exploit his full potential without permission.

The visions cast him low and it hurt to cry in front of this man, that he was willing to accept it when Dean could not handle his tears. But Dean's clumsy attempts at comfort meant so much more because Dean felt he was worth the struggle to give it. Dean gave because Sam needed him to, not because he wanted anything in return. Dean's support was unconditional, and it could be painful at times because Sam did not always feel that he deserved it, could give as much in return, but it could be relied on despite that. Perhaps because of that. And having experienced that made Kane's tactics all the harder to bare because while it was sometimes hard to pull away from the reassurance when it was offered, the knowledge that it was not unconditional was always there. That someday he would be asked to give something in return for Kane's patience, and it would be something Sam either could not, or would not, part with.

He was under no illusions. Even without the chains the tests and the veiled threats it was clear that he was a prisoner. Had no will of his own. Could ask for nothing. He sometimes wondered if Kane was intending to be kind or took pleasure out of surprising him. Of leaving him on edge anticipating the inevitable payback.

If it was safe for either of them then Sam was allowed fresh air. He could tell Kane wanted to allow him exercise but wasn't able to trust him well enough for that. So if his body couldn't be active Kane had tried to engage his mind; make the most of those intermittent periods of awareness. They talked; Sam had a weird degree of company. And if Kane could ask question so could Sam. He was naturally curious and Kane held more information than any book. It was just a matter of knowing what to ask. The sorts of topics that Kane would not consider out of bounds.

He would never share what he was doing with Sam's blood when he had it, and that was one thing Sam knew not to ask. He didn't think he wanted to know. He had enough detached guilt about it already to need the details. He had ideas, heard snatches of conversations that made him cold. That made him refuse the food and the offer of company until the world got too much and Kane was again the lesser of two evils. Couldn't torture Sam more than the demons in his own mind.

Kane had been a solitary figure for years. Sam couldn't help but suspect that he enjoyed the novelty of having somebody with him, and that often allowed him to be more lax in his interactions than he might normally be. They had fallen into a strange routine, because while Sam didn't like the merchant, didn't want to have him near, he was grateful to Kane all the same, because he was aware that this could have been so much worse. And it came as a shock to realise that he trusted him too, in his own way. Trusted him to keep Sam safe, because he was in no position to do that for himself. Trusted that if he said he was going to do something, then it would be done.

But now Kane was either working or pursuing Sam's visions and his periods of solitude were almost complete. At first he thought he missed the company, but then he realised… these visions, the solitude, the strength and the lucidity they afforded him, were perhaps his only chance of getting out of here. He wanted them to stop, but when they did he would be drained and unable to act or think for himself. Which meant that every second that he was alone, every second that he was out of Kane's sight needed to be put to use, because every second could be his last.

With a groan he pulled himself into a sitting position, waiting for the last of the post vision fog, the general dizziness that was now just a part of his life, to ease. Opening the draw by the bed he rooted around in the bottom of it until he came across the nail hidden at the back beneath the bible. He had found it sticking out of the back of the cabinet, and after hours of wheedling and coaxing and knocking everything crashing to the floor he had finally managed to pull it loose.

So far applying the nail to the manacle's lock had achieved nothing but cutting his ankle worse than it had already been. But he had acquired the nail without having to get out of bed so he felt like he was off to a good start. He wouldn't give up now because he could do nothing while chained to this bed. He couldn't even leave the room to access the obligatory cabin phone, because the doorway was too wide for the bed to fit through. At least it was at any angle he would have been able to position it while strapped to it. And while walking unsupported was still a work in progress.

The lock was old, the nail the only thing he could find and not even remotely the right size, and he was starting to think Kane had put a little something extra on the locking mechanism anyway. It was his lock picking that had got both of them into this mess to begin with. But he had to try. He didn't know what else to do. How else to get away. It was such a simple thing, one tiny piece of metal. 27 links. One solid unbreakable bed frame that would not be kicked into submission no matter how long and hard he tried.

The frustration and feelings of uselessness were only rising, because now, he really _should_ have been able to do this. He couldn't blame his own weakness and incoherence and depression any more. He wanted out. If he was presented with an open door he would physically have been able to do something about it, even if it was to crawl to safety. To at least try. And his safety net, the knowledge that at least Dean was following, could maybe, possibly somehow find a way, no longer held true. Because they were stationary now. Kane was not producing wares to any large degree. They were leaving no trail now to follow. For the first time since Dean had pulled him from that second fire, he was on his own. And he owed it not only to himself but to Dean to be able to do something about that. To prove that all the time and effort he always invested was not for nothing.

Giving up on the lock, again, trying to push down the rising nausea of panic, he turned his attention instead to the chain. He blinked back the water in his eyes, trying to tell himself it was from the pain in his ankle that each tug induced, each slip of his hand digging the nail or the metal in harder. He wiped the blood from his hands onto his dark jeans, hoping they would conceal the colour for as long as was needed. If the blood dried on his hands or nails he would not be able to easily hide his efforts from Kane.

He worked his way down slowly and methodically, exploring the weakness of each link, prodding and poking and bending until his fingers bled. But he just got back the information he had already known. That the only way he was getting out of here was if Kane let him go.

Or if he chewed off his own foot. But he doubted he could get that done before Kane returned. And it might hinder his getaway.

Sliding the nail into his pocket for safekeeping he collapsed back onto the bed. His arms were shaking so much from the exertion that he could barely keep his grip on the metal. He tried to slow down his breathing and his heart rate. He needed to get himself under control because if he broke down now it would potentially be a long time before he was in any state to continue with his efforts. So he tried not to believe that it was pointless. Tried not to believe that he was stuck here, that there was no physical way he could get himself out of this room. And soon Kane would return, and maybe this time it was for good, and by nightfall they would be on the move and he would have been drained back into his temporary oblivion.

At least Dean didn't have to sit through these visions. It was a random train of thought but as good a distraction as any. It was something he was genuinely glad of and he felt himself relaxing slightly in the face of it. He knew Dean had been paranoid about the next vision Sam had, since they were both barely recovered from the last one. At least if he got out of here he would be able to assure his brother that even in the least idea of circumstances he had been able to endure them.

He had closed his eyes for only a moment, letting his thoughts dwell on Dean. To try and take some strength and comfort from his memory to help him face the next bid for escape. Help him plan what his next move might be. He was fairly certain he wasn't asleep, but he knew he must be dreaming, because there was no other explanation for it.

Well… if he was asleep anyway he might as well got more comfortable. Only moving his leg sent him back to reality with a painful crash.

And he could still hear it. That sound he associated with Dean. Than deep throated rumble.

"Oh my God."

0000000000000000000000

"Seriously?" Dean took one look at the happy campy sign at the entrance to the holiday park and his spirits plummeted. Faux rustic charm with an artificial lake and manmade woodland and sickening log cabins. He was losing respect for Kane by the minute. Although he had given out his phone number, so he had very little respect left.

"Lake View Pines" Bobby confirmed, "This is the place. I double checked it myself." Dean nodded and fell silent, pulling into the long winding driveway to make his way to the reception building.

"And it was definitely Kane?" He asked again. He didn't think Bobby would lie to him about this, but he didn't think Kane would be so stupid as to leave an obvious clue either.

"I showed her the photo." Bobby responded, knowing better then to get annoyed at Dean's mistrust. He was a little anxious about the whole situation himself. "I got at least four people to confirm sightings. And it turns out we're asking the same questions as Kane. The last woman I spoke to had a young guy, early twenties, show up towards the end of February asking all kinds of questions about psychic powers. What causes them, what to do with them. How to get rid of them. He didn't leave a name or any kind of contact details but Kane seemed mighty keep to track him down. I'm guessing it was one of the first things he did, when he obviously didn't intend to be here too long. Told her to give him a call if he ever came back again. I traced the phone number he gave her. It came back to here. I'm guessing the switchboard at reception should be able to track down the actual cabin."

"Here's hoping." Dean murmured as he pushed the door to the reception open. But he wouldn't allow himself to. Not yet. He refused to believe Kane could be that stupid; that if he'd provided them with a potential address there was any way Sam would be sitting at the end of it. That belief was one of the only reason's he was here. He'd already had one torturous debate with himself while waiting for Bobby to meet him as to the logic of him and his tracking beacon marching up to Kane's hideout. But Kane had said he was accurate up to 3 miles, and as Bobby was quick to point out, Dean had already been within three miles of the camp site, firstly when searching for places to stay, and he had been sat for an hour eating breakfast just within that boundary. It was possible he'd already made Kane bolt.

The figure behind the reception desk was reluctant to tell them much of anything until Bobby produced his wallet, and he had to throw Dean a significant frown at his obvious discomfort that he did not have enough cash on him to provide the bribe himself. Once money had changed hands he was much more talkative. He confirmed that he had seen Kane around the site but didn't remember leasing him anything himself, and there was no Wilber Kane or anything similar registered in their files. And he had always been alone. Sam's picture he didn't recognise.

He could also confirm that the phone number they had been given belonged to cabin 5. The occupant was a Mrs H. Summerton, and she was out. Had been all day as far as he could tell because he could fix no face to the name, and the key had been sitting on its peg since before he had arrived for work that morning. And he wasn't afraid to let it be known he would loan it to them for a brief period, at a price.

Intrigued, they took him up on his offer and headed back to the car.

"It's a shame we didn't bring the dog." Dean mused, staring out over the fishing lake. "He could probably use some exercise, poor thing." But they hadn't expected this kind of a place, despite the name, so Bobby had dropped the dog back at the motel on his way to meet Dean; and because old habits were hard to break and Dean had wanted to drive, they had brought the Impala. Not that either of them would have wanted to take the time to give the dog a proper run about, no matter how guilty they might feel about it. Not while they had legitimate leads to follow.

Dean pulled up outside the cabin 5. They performed a quick scout around the perimeter, peering in windows, but it really and truly looked deserted, so with mounting trepidation he put the key in the lock and slowly pushed open the door.

000000000000000000000000

Sam sat bolt upright on the bed holding his breath. The sound had already made him so dizzy he didn't notice the head rush of rising. Surely it wasn't… but he would recognise that sound anywhere. He heard it for hours, every day.

There was barely the smallest chink of a gap in the curtains but with a craning neck that was all Sam needed for confirmation. To get that tell-tale glimpse of black. Two thumps announced two people getting out of the car, and at the muffled sound of his brother's voice Sam breathed a sigh of relief that literally left him swooning. He would even admit that to Dean, he was that glad to have the opportunity to be teased once again.

He had no idea how Dean had found him, and he didn't care. It only mattered that he had. That all the effort and the failure and the determination to prove he could succeed alone meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. He didn't care, because Dean was here. Dean would get him out. Dean would make him safe. His independent streak was completely and utterly quelled and he knew that the first thing he would do was to fling his arms around his brothers neck and cry like a child, and it was entirely possible he would not release him until Dean had him surgically removed.

He sat waiting with his ears pricked but no further sound came. No dramatic breaking down the door or crying of his name.

Slightly put out that Dean was making him wait he shifted again and tried to see what was going on out of the window. He was so awed by the sight of Dean when he finally caught it that it took Sam a moment to work out what he was doing. He was peering into the front window of the cabin opposite. He was looking surreptitiously around him, and now he was striding away in the direction of what Sam assumed was the door, out of his line of sight.

"Shit."

In his instinctual desire to get to the window and start hollering Sam forgot four things. That it was a long time since he had stood unaided, he was already dizzy, his right ankle was a mess, and he was still chained to the bed. It turned out the chained part didn't matter anyway because the first three meant he only made it half a step before he came crashing to the floor with such force he was sure his entire skeleton must have shifted a few millimetres to the left, and it took him a while to remember what he had been trying to do and why he was now on the floor.

"Oh God."

He crawled on his hands and knees as far as he could go but it was nowhere near enough. The window was right there, but he couldn't reach it. If the curtains had been open then all they would have to do was turn around and he would be in their direct line of sight, banging and hollering like a lunatic.

But there was no way he could stretch that far. He tried it, chain extended to its full degree, not even bothering to try and contain the scream as he let it use the blood to slip as far down his foot as it would go. Because if Dean was going to respond to anything it was Sam screaming.

But his balance was too erratic and his arms weren't long enough, and even if he dislocated every joint in his body it wouldn't give him the extra ft and a half needed to reach the curtain, and even if it did he wouldn't have been able to draw it open. He had screamed his brother's name twice by the time he remembered what Kane had told him about calling for help. That it was useless. That he had somehow soundproofed their corner of every complex they had been on so far so the sound of Sam, and of Kane's processing methods, were not detected. So while he might be able to hear the rumbling voices of passers by, no-one could hear him. But he didn't care, because if anyone was going to it was Dean.

With a curse he scrambled back to the bed on all fours. He needed less than 2ft. That was barely any distance at all. Taking a firm hold of the bed frame in the corner where the chains were fixed, Sam pulled. And he pulled. And he pulled. And absolutely nothing happened until the metal slipped out of his sweaty and bloodstained fingers and he went crashing backwards onto the floor again.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're sodding nailed down." Sam begged as he inspected the legs more thoroughly, but in reality the fact that they were would have been easier to take than the fact they weren't, that he was just too feeble to move it.

And Dean was right there. After almost three weeks there was now nothing but one flimsy piece of orange fabric between them. And he didn't know why Dean was here but he knew that voice and he knew that stance and he knew that Dean was purposeful. That it wasn't chance. That he had picked that cabin for a reason and he would not be randomly spot checking any more. And he would get back in the car and he would drive away and he wouldn't come back. And Sam would be alone again. The one that couldn't even stand, couldn't even drag a bed a short distance across a room would be alone again. And he had already proven he could not do this by himself.

So he did the only thing that he could do. He tried. He pulled and he shook and he screamed and he worked the chain for every inch it had but it were not coming free and the bed was not going to give and he was only exhausting himself further, and soon he would not be able to get up off this floor and stand in the window even if he could reach it.

And then, over the sound of his own clanging, his own frustrated sobs and laboured breathing he heard something else, and it froze him. He heard his brother's name as it was screamed in fear. He heard Bobby's voice and he had never thought he would hear that calm voice so raw, and it took over every other sound except his heartbeat, which if possible beat even harder in his chest at the same time as stopping completely.

Sam sat in complete silence straining for all he was worth but he heard no answering shout. He could no longer hear Bobby's words just that frantic tone of voice, and then after an age, locked away in the distance, the wailing of sirens.

00000000000000000000000

The inside of the cabin was cold and dark. It didn't feel as though anyone had lived here in days, and a thin layer of dust covered everything. In one fluid motion Dean reached behind him for his gun, holding it close to his body, Bobby matching his movements behind. With determined and synchronised movements Dean broke off to the right, Bobby to the left, meeting again in the main living area to confirm that they were truly alone.

While working his way though his half of the structure Dean had fixed his attention solely on hunting out any sign that they were not alone. Any possible threat or trap Kane may have placed. He did his best to ignore the flowery cardigan resting on a chair by the bed. The makeup and other toiletries on display. The complete and utter absence of Sam.

He had promised himself that he would not get his hopes up too high, had been aiming to protect himself from this blow, but the hope was a reflex action by now. It was a part of him, he could no more shut it off than he could fly, and while he may not have been able to control it, it could still hurt him. But he didn't have to let that pain show.

Bobby's face when he rejoined him was a mirror image of his own. That sceptical unease. For Kane to have left this number he must have been fairly sure he would receive any message left here, yet all the signs indicated a Mrs H. Summerton genuinely was staying here, although admittedly she hadn't been here in some time. Which begged the question of where exactly she might be.

"You think it's a decoy renting?" Dean asked, lifting copies of _Good Home_ magazine from the sofa.

"I don't know. But if Kane isn't staying here he's gonna have to have left her with some way of contacting him. In case someone does call"

"You think it's likely she's coming back? Do you think it's worth posting watch on this place, see who's using it…?" He trailed off at the sheer fact that no-one seemed to be using it at all.

"If no-one answers the phone, do call's get diverted back to reception?" Bobby mused. "If so there doesn't need to be anyone in here, Kane just has to come in, or call in, and collect his messages. Dean…" it was said with regret but it had to be said none the less, "He could have set this up without ever having been here."

"The guy at reception said Kane looked familiar."

"Kane has that kind of face. Plus we were paying him; maybe he just told us what he knew we wanted to hear."

Dean nodded reluctantly but turned his attention back to the room. While they were here, they would search it, just in case. He _had_ to be able to take something away from this. From the hour he had spent away from those hospital records, tracking down his leverage with Kane.

But they uncovered nothing.

They had split up to work their way quickly through the cabin, which meant they ended up exploring the bedroom at the back together.

"If Kane did set this whole place up he went to a lot of effort. He even picked out old lady underwear." Bobby complained, hastily slamming closed the bedside draws.

"Why do you think I'm over at this side of the room?" Dean responded absently, making his way over to the wardrobe against the far wall. He couldn't explain it, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something obvious. That there was something here that they were supposed to see.

And then he found it.

Opening the wardrobe and pushing aside the floral skirts and frilly blouses and Dean was confronted with it, fixed to the solid back of the furniture. A tacky, grainy Polaroid photo.

Of Sam.

The first image of his brother he had been confronted with in 19 days. The first physical proof that he had been alive when he had been taken from that motel room. Visual confirmation of the condition the spirit had left him in. The weakness Kane had chosen to exploit. He looked to be sleeping but Dean knew it was anything but natural. If it were he would probably not have been in the trunk of a car. Probably not have those restraints around his ankles and wrists.

And that was it. Their only clue was a threat. Their only clue was a gloating confirmation of what they already knew. And scrawled in thick spidery writing at the bottom of the picture, Kane's words to him. The only explanation he had given for why he had destroyed Dean's family.

_**Dean – you are thorough aren't you.**_

Perhaps it was stupid, but Kane knew him well. Knew that picture, anything that was Sam, and it was guaranteed that Dean would have reached in and taken it. Would need it with him, to study it, to take in its every detail no matter how much they were sure to hurt him. And he did.

The second he pulled the picture away Dean realised his mistake. The tack gave just the wrong level of resistance. Made just a slightly too definitive clicking noise, but he had the picture in his hand and for an instant that was all that mattered. And the pain in his shoulder took him by surprise.

It looked like a dart. Like a normal back of the bar let's have a few games dart. So what the hell was it doing here? And why was it suddenly in his shoulder, so deep he was watching the blood blossom around it.

And even as he turned to ask Bobby these very questions, even as he reached upwards to pull the offending item out, even as he turned the picture over to see the words scrawled on the back, Dean knew. And he didn't like the answer.

_**Well, I'm thorough too.**_

"Bobby?" It was barely a whisper and he was already falling as he said it. The warmth and the pain were already spreading and the floor was rushing up to greet him, and Sam's image was still clutched protectively in his hand. And he was still aware enough to lament that he bent it.

Bobby had sensed Dean still midway through his examination of the wardrobe, but it wasn't until that slightly alarmed, slightly confused whisper of his name that he turned to discover why. He barely had time to register the sight of Dean, swaying slightly at the other side of the room, eyes fixed on a dart in his hand in some kind of guilt struck horror. Barely had time to take in the small circle of blood in his shoulder from where the object had entered his skin, bleeding more readily now he had removed it. And then Dean was listing, he was falling, and Bobby was crying out his name with a degree of panic he only seemed to encounter when there was a Winchester nearby.

Dean fell in a sickening slow motion but even so Bobby didn't make it across the room until he'd already hit the floor. Crouched down beside him he called out Dean's name and patted his cheeks but Dean was already unconscious. Was already cold. And Bobby tried hard not to focus on what that meant. On the picture that had fluttered out of the other man's now lax grip. The two of them, side by side again, united in their unconsciousness. But Dean's chest was still rising and falling; his pulse was still strong beneath Bobby's madly groping fingers.

And just when Bobby was breathing out a sigh of relief that maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as it had initially seemed, the seizure started.

Bobby just stared at him at first. For perhaps a full six seconds he just knelt in a kind of detached frozen horror while Dean writhed before him, but just as the convulsions kicked in in earnest his brain flicked back on.

He quickly knocked the dart out of Dean's flailing reach; the last thing they needed was him accidentally re-stabbing himself and letting more of Kane's poison into his system. And then he did the only thing he could. He tried to keep Dean as still as possible while at the same time calling for an ambulance. Because mystical poisoning or no this was beyond him. He didn't even notice that he continued to talk to Dean as they waited for help to arrive. He held Dean tight with one hand while the shaking slowed then ceased beneath him, unsure whether it was a good thing or not. But that heartbeat was still there and he focused on that. Focused on trying to expel as much of the blood and possible poison from the wound as he could, until Dean's front looked like it had been stabbed by a butcher's knife and not a little dart.

And finally the ambulance arrived and Dean was taken out of his hands and loaded into the waiting vehicle. The medics took the dart to analyse; Bobby pondered momentarily keeping it, but he had no resources at his disposal to look into it himself. To break down the poison and see what Kane had used. And even if he had been able to do that, he probably wouldn't have had the ingredients or the conditions necessary to make an antidote in time. The hospital and their fancy labs would be able to do it quicker than he would, and using some of Dean's numerous ID cards and some creative effort on his own part he could probably requisition the results, see if there was _anything_ he could do. And while they might not know what they were looking at, it was possible the medics would see ingredients that they could counteract. Could at least slow down the process and buy Bobby the time to figure something out.

But first he had to make sure there was something to save.

It felt wrong climbing behind the wheel of the Impala. Dean still had the keys, but the ambulance was already pulling away. He felt strangely guilty enough just driving Dean's car without permission, so hotwiring it to enable him to follow the ambulance carrying his prone form to hospital evoked a bewildering mix of emotions. He just hoped he got to hear Dean complaining about it when he got to his destination.

00000000000000000000

Sam swore he didn't breath for the entire time those sirens were approaching, which he knew was physically impossible but it was true all the same. But perhaps that would account for the brain damage that seemed to have set in. The reason why he had no memory of the time between first hearing the distant wail, of knowing what it signified, and feeling the burning heat of the lights sweeping over him.

He heard shouts and orders and Bobby's voice, calmer once more, and he knew offering a succinct explanation even if the words weren't clear. He wanted someone to offer the explanation to him. To take away this paralysing dread, but nobody came.

He remembered to breathe again and it hurt, and sound rushed back but it was sirens and shouts and doors slamming and nothing that made any sense. Nothing but the ambulance moving further away from him. Dean receding into the distance, more lost to him now than he had ever been, and it was the expanding horror of that in his chest that reminded him to get moving. Of the need to keep his brother's chariot in sight for as long as he could.

He knelt to strain out the window once more but his position allowed him only the tiniest of views. Dean was already gone. There was nothing to see. And Sam had never felt so cold. Had not even been aware until now that he was shaking. That the unfamiliar mixture of adrenaline and hope that had carried him this far was leaching out of him, and the world was beginning to dim.

And then Bobby walked past his window; back to that glorious strip of black. He would be leaving now. He would be leaving to go with Dean. Sam wanted him to go with Dean. To be with him, to find out what the hell was going on because Sam could not. But he was also suddenly aware that if Bobby left, he really and truly wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Might never be able to work out what had happened. If Bobby got into that car and drove away then that would be it. It would be over. And Sam would spend the rest of his life at the bottom of this pit of uncertainty.

So with the last of his remaining strength Sam did the only thing he had left to try and attract the departing man's attention. The one thing he had not yet thought to do.

If he could not make it close enough to bang on the window himself, then something else was just going to have to bang on it for him. Because as much as he didn't want to delay Bobby, detract his focus away from Dean, he had been here too darn long now, had suffered enough to want to be selfish. To remind Bobby why he was here. What had brought him here in the first place. To return the focus back onto himself, and when he was free they could worry about Dean together.

So he grabbed hold of the only heavy and throwable object that was within his reach, the bible in the draw by his bed next to where he was currently crouched, and threw it with all his remaining strength at the glass.

The impact was spectacular, but it was also silent. Kane had not been exaggerating when he had said their surroundings were soundproof. Wood and glass and orange fabric rained downwards along with the torn pages of the thrown bible. Fresh air rushed into the void, whipped up the curtains, blasted his face and woke him more fully to his situation. Dispelling the confusion, the assumed slip into semi-consciousness his mind had thought the silent explosion had implied. And the curtains billowed inwards and out, throwing his view clear just in time for him to see the Impala's rear disappearing around the corner out of sight.

TBC

Okay so that was mean, but that wasn't what I was going to say. I'm stupid. I even mentioned it in the last chapter, but then I completely forgot Dean wasn't actually going to approach Kane until it was pointed out to me in a review, and by then I'd already written this. I tried to change it, I was going to have Bobby go in first and establish that the cabin was empty before Dean approached, but it turned out I liked the guilt of Dean not being able to afford the bribe more than continuity. A frightening insight into my mind no doubt, but there you have it.

Also, never underestimate the power of a review. This chapter originally ended with Dean getting into the car and driving away but I had a rethink. So any ensuing angst should not be blamed on me.


	16. Chapter 16

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

Huge thanks to everyone who's stuck with me so far. The end is in sight, I swear. This chapter turned into a bit of a monster, sorry about that. I'm not really quite sure how it ended up this long.

I'm really sorry for taking so long to update. Firstly I was experiencing technical difficulties and my internet stopped working for ages, and then I was lazy. But I'm back now.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sam wasn't sure how long he sat there. His body and mind were depleted. He didn't have the strength left to sit upright, or to move somewhere where he could lean, so he simply allowed himself to curl over onto his side on the floor.

The shaking wouldn't go away and he pulled his knees as close to his chin as he could get them, hugging them tight. But it didn't help. Nothing would help. He just had enough awareness left to process the thought that it was over now. He would never find out what had happened to Dean, and after _that_ Bobby would not come back. It was over. This was his life now. There was no point holding on to what he could have been. What he had wanted to be. The good he had wanted to have been able to achieve.

He was just a tool. A cog in a machine and he was too lowly in the workings to even know what that machine did. He was an object now, and means to an end. Maybe that's all he had ever been. But Dean had let him think that maybe he could be otherwise. That maybe he could be saved. Dean had promised to save him, and Sam had vowed to himself that it would not come to that, but he knew the truth now. It didn't matter what he wanted or how he tried; he could not save himself.

And so he would stay here. He would stay where he was needed and there would be no more good and there would be no more promises and there would be no more trying to be something he obviously was not. Because he had killed the only thing he had; the only part of him that was good. Because it had wanted to save him. Because it had tried. He had fooled it into believing there was something there to save, that it would be worth the effort. Dean had paid the price for that, that unfounded belief. For not accepting what their father's words, the fact he could consider saying them at all, had already proved to be true.

These were the thoughts he'd always hoped never to have, and it was easier not to have them. To shut his mind off as effectively as his body. To retreat deep into himself, hide everything that was Sam away where no-one else could hurt it further, to become the vessel, the compliant, needless, empty shell that it would suit Kane for him to be.

And he disappeared there, lost himself so completely that he had no idea how much time passed before Kane found him. How long Kane had been in the room before Sam became aware of his words, of his touch, guiding Sam gently into a sitting position, trying to un-cramp his limbs that still wanted desperately to curl into each other for protection. Before he heard those whispered assertions that he was safe.

Kane was asking for some kind of verbal reassurance that Sam was all right and he didn't know how to give it. Didn't think it was true. How to make his jaws form words. How to connect the genuine fear he saw in the merchant's eyes with the sheer fact that he had been kidnapped, dragged out of that motel room against his will when he had begged Kane not to, had actually been willing to demean himself to beg. But that had perhaps been his most dignified moment, because since then he had been bound, drugged, stripped, examined, tested and probed, and it had all been to satisfy the other man's curiosity or profit. So that look of fear in Kane's eyes when he picked Sam up from his spot on the floor, cradled him, tried to rouse him and begged to know what was going on… it took a while to make that make sense.

Because Sam was for once not coming at the situation as the least informed. Sam was not the one that had arrived to stories of attacks, of paramedics and broken young men. Had not rushed to his cabin to find tired tracks and obvious signs that the ambulance had been right here. Seen the shattered bedroom window. Found his ward stiff and shaking and completely unresponsive on the hardwood floor. Sam had not spent the day hunting down a killer while trying to elude a pissed off brother and if possible an even more irate rival. Had not spent the day warding off threats of his own.

So before Sam found his voice he found the realisation that Kane's grasp on the situation was slowly spiralling out of his control. Was reminded again that when they had fled, when he hid his operation from callers, the one thing Kane protected the most highly, the one thing he needed, was Sam. Without him even Kane's tentative control would waver. And that was a prospect that genuinely terrified the other man. Because Kane had been respected and tolerated while he was useful, but Sam doubted he had ever been liked. And that part of him that was Sam, was a brother, that still wanted nothing more then to get away finally woke up to that. Finally scented opportunity.

"You didn't tell me Dean was here." He said at last, finally accepting the beaker of water Kane had been pressing against his lips – he had been careful never to offer Sam glass.

Kane sighed and sat back, taking in the room with new understanding. That whatever had happened within these boundaries Sam had done to himself.

Sam sat back too until he was leaning against the bed opposite Kane, knees still drawn up against him as if they offered some protection from what he represented. Sam had never thought for a second that Kane would tell him about Dean, he never had in the past. But then they had always moved. They had been here longer then they had been anywhere, and he knew that Kane must be anxious by now to get it done.

"He went in the…?" Kane indicated to the cabin opposite with a nod of his head. Sam just stared at him but the confirmation was in his eyes.

"What did you do?" It came out as harsh as he could make it but he needn't have bothered to try, it was drowned out by Kane's own words, his actions.

"We have to leave." he said distractedly, rising to his feet and pacing the room. "We have to… no. No, maybe we stay. Double bluff them…"

"What's going on? What are you talking about?" But the merchant continued to have his own internal debate. "Kane!"

It was the first time Sam had ever called him by name and maybe that surprised him enough to make him fall silent.

"What's…?"

"I set some traps in the cabin."

"What…Why?"

"Why do you think? As soon as I got wind your brother was heading in this direction" they had problems with names. Kane would not say 'Dean' in his hearing. "I realised I'd left a potential trail here, although I have to admit, I hadn't though he'd be looking in the right places to track it down. Oh, I'm not saying I underestimated him, I just figured it would be _you_ he was here looking for."

Sam ignored that. He knew that Kane was irritated at having been caught unawares. Of showing his fear for the wrong reasons, and was merely lashing out to make himself feel better. And the fact he would be reduced to something so petty only made Sam shuffle his way a little closer to the surface.

"So you got what you wanted." Sam said bitterly, "You got Dean off your back. Why the sudden freak out?"

"Because…" Kane was staring at him incredulously. He sighed. "I took everything out. Well… the more obvious stuff anyway. After Prichard… Because an outbreak of a mystery virus at a holiday site doesn't exactly scream low profile. It's not contagious but they don't know that. If they issue a quarantine or advertise the symptoms… Well, let's just say it's a speciality of mine. It's not going to be hard to figure out who was behind this."

"Will it kill him?" he asked quietly. It was taking all his self control, was a testament to his physical weakness, that he was not pummelling Kane where he stood. He was within Sam's reach.

"Yes."

"Can you cure him?"

"Why would I want to? One less obstacle… this simplifies matters for me."

"Because I'm asking you too."

A condescending smile.

"Because you're right. An outbreak of a mystical virus in a populated area isn't exactly a good way to keep a low profile. And you've just advertised to a lot of people that you're here. This isn't you're land Kane, do you think I don't know what Prichard's going to do to you if he finds out what you've done? What would you have done in his place? How will your customer's feel when they find out you have it in you to do a spot of meddling on the side but you haven't got the time to fulfil the contracts that you promised?

"And because I have nothing else to lose, and you have close to everything. Because you still have a lot of work to do here and enemies closing in on every side and only one asset. And you leave me here alone every day with just enough chain to hang myself with."

Kane was less certain about himself now, was staring Sam in the eye but he didn't blink. The fact that he'd even said it, that it had come out without a waver proved to both of them that he'd considered it, whether he was aware of it or not. And whether or not he was willing to do it could not have been less important beside whether or not Kane believed he would be willing to do it. Kane had miscalculated in a big way if he thought poisoning Dean was a way of keeping that threat at bay, because it was perhaps the only thing he could have done that would force Sam to get his tired mind up and running again.

"Haven't we made this deal once" Then, "It'll take time."

"Time he has?"

"If the doctors are worth their wages, yes."

He continued to stare and Sam with his eyebrows raised questioningly, and Sam knew he wouldn't budge without the added incentive.

"Make the antidote first." He relented.

A nod

"And I get to give it to him."

"No way."

"Then no deal."

"You're not going to let him die."

"And you're not going to stroll into that hospital while you have god knows how many people looking for you."

"And how may are looking for you?"

"Bobby won't be there." He tried not to let his voice shake as he said it, not because he was bluffing but because he knew it was true. Dean would be alone. "Their attention is going to be on finding you, on finding leverage or any kind of a cure. They're not gonna be waiting around in the hospital doing nothing."

"How do I know you're not going to…?"

"I can barely sit unsupported, you really think I'm gonna run? That I would leave him there to die…"

"You're not going to be able to run when I'm done with you."

"No. You take only enough to get you started. You can take as much as you need when I get back." And he couldn't stop the falter then, but there was no other way. "As much as will keep them at bay for a while. To let you finish this."

"I save him he's just going to keep following us."

"Yes. But we're not talking about what might happen later. We're talking about what's happening now. If Dean and Bobby know you're here how many other people do too. How many different channels do you think the information passes through before it gets to them? They're not exactly on the top of the food chain. Like it or not, and believe me I don't, you need me. You really can't afford to let him die. And you can't afford not to take this while I'm offering it to you."

"In case you haven't noticed, you're not exactly going anywhere. What makes you think I won't just take it anyway?"

"You haven't yet."

Kane had no answer for that, and while that arrogant smile was back it seemed to be laced with something approaching approval. If Kane's own circumstances hadn't been so dire Sam would almost have been prepared to suspect he would have set something like this up just for amusement. To put the fire back into their interaction.

"You do have something you can offer me. I'm talking long term, but then, you must have figured out by now that you're going to be staying with me indefinitely anyway. I need you it's true… but that doesn't mean you have to be a prisoner."

"Yes it does."

"Why so quick to…?"

"Because the alternative is being like you." Sam replied sadly. "Just… we have to get started. What do you need me to do?"

"I'll get the ingredients together. It's going to take some time to prepare."

"Just bring things through and I'll…" A click interrupted his words and he looked down just in time to see Kane concealing a small key back on his person.

"I didn't think that was a real lock," he admitted quietly, with a greater sense of defeat than he wanted to display.

"You're assuming that was a real key." Kane told him, offering out a hand to help him to his feet. "Besides, if it didn't look the part, how else were you going to keep yourself entertained all day?" Kane's back was already to him and he was striding out of the door, but Sam could still see the smile in his words. He'd completely wasted two days on something he was never going to be able to achieve, but he would not have had the strength and awareness he had now if he had not at least been willing to try.

He followed Kane from the room with tentative unsteady steps. To say he barely had the energy to remain conscious a short time ago he was doing well. Even when he'd been allowed into Kane's rooms in the past his bonds had always been in place, and he knew Kane was making a point now. Sam both _could_ not and _would _not leave him. He was still too weak, he could put no weight at all on his right ankle, and Kane was the only person who could possibly save Dean. Sam would not walk out on that.

There was also no doubt a small element of 'this is what life could be like without the chains' going on, and Sam couldn't help but feel there was a degree of cowardice in that, because under the current circumstances this excises would prove nothing to either of them. Just that they were both comfortable with exploiting each other and themselves to get what they wanted.

By the time Sam had struggled his way into the other room Kane was setting ingredients out on the table in the kitchen area, and he indicated to a chopping board and some leaves. "Dice them fine. The smaller they are the less time they'll take to stew, and we could do with the extra minutes."

Sam looked at the soft armchairs with longing as he made his way to the hard wooden stools by the kitchen table, but a chair of any kind would be a novelty about now. He had been mostly ignored since they had got here.

Sitting at the table while the merchant bustled about him Sam eyed the knife suspiciously, but Kane just smirked at him and with a sigh Sam picked it up and started chopping. Another display of power. He had given Sam a knife because he knew he wouldn't use it. Not while Kane held Dean's life in his hands. And of course he knew there was every possibility that whatever Kane was making would make Dean worse, but he was dead either way. Sam had no choice. And he didn't believe Kane would deliberately enter into a false bargain. Not while there was still something he wanted.

"How long will it take?" Sam asked, sprinkling his chopped offering into the bubbling bowel of liquid like Kane indicated.

"To make, about twenty minutes. But it needs to simmer for about two hours before it's effective.

"And then it's ready?"

"Once it's strained. And you might want to make sure it's cooled a little before you go injecting him with it."

Sam nodded. "And how long to take effect?"

"It depends. The mix I used wasn't strong." Kane just shrugged at the look Sam threw him – he'd measured the dosage so that Dean would die, but not necessarily die quickly. "Another couple of hours maybe."

"And he'll be fine? No side effects or..?"

"Well he'll be a little groggy, but nothing too serious, no."

"I want to stay until I know it's worked." It wasn't a request.

"But not until he wakes. You'll know before then. I want you out before he sees you."

Sam's heart clenched at the thought of being allowed so close, but being forced to leave before his brother opened his eyes. "If I find out you've talked to him, left anything for him with the staff, then this whole thing's off. I have more poison than I do antidote. He's not going anywhere, I can stick him again."

"How are you going to..?"

"I don't have to. I'm going to be taking more of your blood before you get there. Not all my clients pay me in money. It can be useful being owed favours, as I'm sure you'd agree. Do you seriously think I'm going to be letting you in that hospital alone?"

"You're just going to hand me over to someone and..?" he couldn't disguise the panic he felt at that thought. Their relationship was warped but in this cabin, in Kane's company, he knew he was safe. It was all a matter of degrees and relativity now.

"My wears will be the payment for this favour." Kane answered, suddenly surprisingly gentle. "But do you honestly think I'd just let you leave here if I wasn't 100 per cent sure I'd be getting you back?" Sam nodded. He'd been in Kane's world for seven minutes and already it was exhausting. Deals and obligations and no-one getting anything for nothing. Apart from Dean. He would never ask but Sam would do this anyway. Perhaps that was why he would do this anyway. Had done this once as a gesture of good faith that they could co-exist without needing to threaten each other. And it seemed so long ago now that the sentiment, the degree of contamination he'd felt afterwards, now seemed absurd.

"Stir it, make sure it doesn't burn." Kane continued absently, "Measure out 4 units of the grey powder… No.. the darker one."

"What is it?"

Another condescending look. If Sam was going to see the process, as if he would be allowed to understand it. Especially when it was an antidote they were making.

He remembered with a pang sitting opposite Dean at their motel table while he mixed ingredients and herbs in an effort to protect him. Well in a way Sam was returning the favour, but Sam could not feel the same level of calm. And the short amount of time it took to get the potion up and running was nowhere near long enough to allow him to channel his anxiety and frustration into the first practical task he had been given in days. He wasn't sure holding a tourniquet on your own arm was supposed to be therapeutic.

"The poison…" Sam asked in a small voice as Kane added the finishing touches to their mixture. "What does it do?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." He determined, in a voice that said clearly that he didn't.

"It's different for everyone."

"Is it painful?"

Kane actually looked unsure what to tell him, which told Sam everything. "He's in a hospital. He'll be medicated. They can't stop the toxin but they can treat the symptoms as they appear. Get the illusion of being able to manage them. They should have been able to take care of the worst of it by now," he finished, ushering Sam away from the table and the gently simmering container and over to one of the more comfortable chairs in the living area.

Sam sank into it with a sigh, amazed that something so simple like a soft chair could cause so much difference. Could make him feel almost human again, something he had not felt in a long time. But it also allowed his muscles to relax and he could practically feel himself sinking through the fabric, every part of him was that weary. But he had to try and focus for a little while longer. He still had no idea how he was going to get out of this predicament, but this was the closest he had ever been. He was out of his chains, and in a few hours he would be out of Kane's sight. While it was torturous waiting here knowing Dean was hurt, if Sam could make that sacrifice count for something then he would. And keeping his mind focused on that, and on reminding it to function, was doing a lot to keep the fear for Dean at bay. Because as much as he wanted to be able to feel it, as much as the anguish was reflex, he needed to keep the worst of it in so his mind could be here with Kane, and not with Dean where it belonged.

He didn't realise he'd closed his eyes, but when he reopened them Kane's face was swimming in front of his vision. He rest a hand against Sam's forehead, but Sam knew he would feel no warmth. He was still too cold for that. He was just starting to feel the effects of the day.

"We don't have to do this now." Kane told him.

"Will you let me do this without the blood?"

"Can I guarantee that you'd come back if I let you go?"

"Then yes we do." He answered, holding out his arm for Kane to get this process up and running. He could say that he would return, that he'd do as he promised, but they both knew he wouldn't. That if faced with the possibility of escape he would take it. If he had Dean's cure and an open door then he would take them both. And that was perhaps the biggest difference between Kane's world and his own. Because if Kane gave his word that he would return, then he would come back. Because the sanctity of his word was the only honour, the only law his life had. The only thing that stopped it from descending into absolute chaos.

Sam wasn't sure exactly where he wanted to file away that fact. The knowledge that when it came down to it, Kane was the more trustworthy of the two.

"I don't need much to get started." Kane told him, "But when it gets out that I made this one, what's going to get you into the hospital, it's going to get a lot of people disgruntled that this guy got to skip the queue. This could cause more immediate harm than good. You have to be prepared for this. If I was doing this in the order the requests were logged we'd have a lot more control over it, but we're not. I think the best thing would be to do this by geographical location. Aim to have it that by the time they hear what's going on and get themselves over here, their products are good to go."

"Isn't that gonna make some noise?" Sam knew Kane had been striving to keep their whereabouts unknown. He'd thought Kane was agreeing to help Dean because the lack of a supernatural death would help limit his exposure. Why else would he be willing to go for it?

"I have a base semi set up; it's not too far away. I can work from there." Kane assured him. "Neutral ground. It's close, but it's allowed. I'll meet my client's there. No-one can have any reason to argue over that. It's our presence this side of that invisible line that could cause problems."

"You didn't think about that _before_ poisoning my brother?"

Kane shrugged. "I didn't think we'd be here that long. And Prichard's a nobody. Six months ago and he'd have rolled over begging me to take his client base. I didn't expect him to be bright enough to notice us this quickly let alone have the balls to do something about it. But as you're painfully aware," he stated, tightening the tourniquet around Sam's forearm, "time's change."

He wasn't sure if Kane was aware that he kept referring to them as though they were equals. As though Sam had any choice at all in the ins and outs of where he ended up. But Kane always chose his words carefully; he regarded them as his most powerful tool, so he doubted it had been unintentional. But whether it was designed to make Sam feel included, to stress his offer that there could be a place for Sam here beyond the chains, or Kane was merely emphasising his predicament – Kane's downfall either at his customer's or rival's hands would also be his own – Sam couldn't say. He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to hear that Kane was worried. He didn't want to hear that Kane would do everything he could to protect Sam, Sam already knew that he would. But he didn't want to _hear_ it. Didn't want to have to acknowledge or accept it.

Partly he didn't want to be reminded of how much he was reliant on Kane for his own survival, to meet his every basic need as well as the other more abstract ones, but also he didn't want Kane echoing the sentiment that had been Deans. To take on the role that had always, probably _would_ always, be Dean's, no matter how hard Sam tried to prove he didn't need it. As much as a part of him always managed to feel suffocated or belittled by Dean's determination to keep him safe, it was also the only comfort and stability he had ever known. And he had only recently come to terms with the knowledge that Dean took as much from the arrangement as Sam. That through the security offered he found his own sense of purpose. His own refuge in the simple act of being needed. That it wasn't that he thought less of Sam that made the devotion necessary, but because he thought more. And while that fact exasperated him at times, he couldn't claim that it didn't warm him all the same.

And he couldn't bear to have that feeling tainted now by Kane, whether he did it deliberately or not. Kane had already taken so much; Sam would not let him take that from him to. Would not let him take Dean. He would earn that love, and even if doing so meant he was binding himself tighter to Kane then it was a price worth paying. Because even if he couldn't be with him it was enough to know that Dean was out there.

But no. It wasn't enough. Because Dean had already proved that there was nothing Sam could do to him that would push Dean away. He could shut Dean out of his life; he could abandon him, taunt him, lie to him, shoot him, and have the potential to destroy them both. Everyone who loved him died but that made no difference at all; if anything it only made Dean more determined. So if that didn't convince Dean to leave him to his fate then saving him was unlikely to achieve that aim. Dean would continue to hunt for him until he had a pretty conclusive reason not to. He would save Dean's life but he would find no comfort in it, because his brother would be too stubborn to live it. If he wanted that for Dean then he would have to find a way out for himself. And he had until he got back from the hospital and Kane started to work in earnest to work out how to achieve that.

"Are you going to have another vision any time soon do you think?" Kane asked, poised to set the blood flowing. Doing this would make his life less complicated if he pulled it off. It would no doubt increase his standing if he carried it out so close to where another merchant already operated, but he was still worried about doing this while the visions were in progress. But even he couldn't deny Sam was stronger now than he had been in a long time. But if the worry and the stress and the movement and the anguish of seeing and leaving Dean took their toll, then all the extra strength in the world would make no difference.

"I can't control them, you know that. But just do it."

"You probably could, if you wanted to." Kane asserted, not for the first time.

"If I wanted to." Sam agreed. "Besides, you probably know better than me how likely I am to have another one. How close are you to making them stop? If it could be done before you start with the mass bloodletting that would be appreciated." It had been his suggestion, which maybe accounted for the extra bitterness in his voice.

"Well that last one isn't going to happen."

"Really?" It was odd feeling strangely hopeful at the same time as watching your own blood leaking out of your arm. Trying to block out the thought of the horrors you were maybe enabling. But this one was for Dean, and hopefully the good he would do with the remainder of his life would be enough to counteract the damage Sam might be doing now to save it. In time, Kane would start taking it again anyway. Sam might as well try and get something of worth out of it while he was still in a position to barter.

"You said you thought it would be taking place some time this afternoon." Sam nodded, remembering the time on the clock on the apartment wall. "Well I found the apartment. At least I'm fairly certain I did. Everything was as you described it." It would have been more conclusive if Sam had been able to see it for himself and confirm he was in the right place, they both knew that, but it wasn't going to happen. This was why Sam spent as long as he did recalling even the smallest of details, to give Kane as vivid an impression as he was able. "The guy's hidden. He's gone to ground. Somewhere he claims is safe."

"What will you do with the killer when you find him?" Sam enquired nervously. His visions were always tied to either the demon or the children like him, but from the way Kane talked about them he wasn't sure if the other man realised this. He would no doubt kidnap them and use them as another blood slave if he did. Maybe he would just kill them if he didn't. He'd want to put a stop to this quickly and effectively. Either way it wouldn't end well for the killer, and Sam had been the one to put Kane on their trail. Sam was the one that would have to live with the guilt of what Kane did, because he doubted Kane would feel any.

"He's a killer. It concerns you that much what becomes of him?" Kane sounded slightly surprised, was regarding Sam with that unusual expression that he had never been able to determine if was mostly admiration or distain. He knew it was a mix of the two.

Sam just shrugged and sighed. It did concern him, but he was in no position to do anything about it. He'd had four days to resign himself to that. And even if he had been, he had no idea what he would have done. They were yet to meet one of these kids that survived their own kill rampage to have to decide what to do with them. And that in itself was a depressing enough thought.

"Besides. I've already found him. Well, I found a name. It wasn't too hard to track down where he lives with that. I'll be paying him a visit in time."

"You're gonna go to their house?" Sam closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his own blood leaving him. To try and ward off the dizziness and sudden nausea.

"I can be round there at some point tonight, after I've got things up and running. It would be over then. No more visions. No more distractions. We can get on with our work. This doesn't have to be a bad thing for you."

"I just… you don't go to his house." Sam couldn't pick what was making him more confused; his worry for Dean, the blood loss, this sudden shock at knowing this could soon be over, or Kane's continued assertions that life here could be something he could want. So hopefully Kane wouldn't pick up on the fact that his own words were a source of confusion too, because he knew he had to do something, so he was doing it. He just had absolutely no idea what he hoped to achieve by it.

"You go to… I thought you'd set up a meeting. There were… something about docks. I could see the light on the water."

"What? You had another vision? When?" Kane's hand moved convulsively to the needle in Sam's arm but he held himself back. There was no backing out of this now. Calls had already been made. It was already set in motion.

"After… with… Why do you think I was semi conscious on the floor?"

"I just assumed with your brother..."

"Yeah, well there was a lot going on."

"What did you see?"

"Not much. Just flashes. You, the water…" Sam screwed his face up in concentration as though trying to remember vague details, when in reality he was trying to decide where exactly he was going with this. All things going to plan he would be seeing Dean in just under two hours. He had no idea where he was, and he knew Kane well enough to know he would not be given that information, that he would no doubt be blindfolded when he left. He didn't know where he was, who the killer was, or where he lived. He had nothing to offer Dean. He could save his life, and Sam wasn't belittling that fact, but he could give Dean nothing that might enable him to save Sam's. Unless…

Kane set a lot of stock by these visions. If he could convince him there was a reason to see it through, he could have complete control over where all the players in this ended up. He could name the time, the place, he could perhaps maybe even suggest a why.

"There were warehouses in the background…" But Sam had no idea what San Francisco docks looked like. He could give no details of a location because Kane would know instantly Sam had made it up when he got there and the description didn't match. "I don't know," he offered apologetically, "It was really dark and the whole thing was over really quickly. It was just the two of you. You said something about a deal."

"What kind of deal?" He could literally see Kane's eye's light up.

"I don't know. That's all I heard." But it was enough, because if Kane thought there was any way he might be able to profit from this, he would take it.

"Why didn't you say something so..?"

"Dean was here." Sam opened his eyes again; he needed the anguish of that moment to show on his face to sell this. "I saw... I saw him through the gap in the curtains... I mean. Just for a moment. I heard his voice… I heard the damn car and… god; it's just been so long. But then there was screaming and sirens and they loaded him on a frigging ambulance and I just… I needed to know that you could fix this. That… I just want to be able to fix this; I don't care about anything else."

And he didn't. Not really. But Dean did so he would try and remain focused on the bigger picture for Dean.

"A meeting makes sense. And I'm sure he'd have his uses. And you say it took place around the docks… I think I know just the place."

"Why did he do it?" Max had had his reasons. That childhood and those abilities… when it came down to it could it have ended any other way? But Webber had been less easy to understand.

"He's not so different from you." Perhaps Kane was correctly interpreting part of the motivation behind Sam's question. "He's just overwhelmed by something he doesn't understand. Taking the wrong action to fix it."

"You think we're similar?"

"In a lot of ways, yes."

"You think I…"

"You think you're not a killer? It's a matter of perspective. He's just battling different kinds of demons. Sees evil with a different eye. It doesn't necessarily mean he'd wrong. He's on a similar crusade to your own."

"But he's killing humans." Sam protested. Kane was always perceptive. He didn't want to hear him say he thought the two of them were on the same path.

"Is he? Like I said, it's a matter of perspective. Yours is broader. So by your definition no, you're not a killer. You wouldn't be worried about what I had planned for Ryan if you were. If you were a killer Sam, you wouldn't still be here. You've tried everything you could think of in the past few days to get out of here, but it never occurred to you to try the one thing that might have actually worked. It's the reason you're hear and the one thing I can't take from you when I leave. And you don't even consider using it to help you. You'd rather be its bitch than acknowledge that it's a part of who you are. Well… Ryan's just taken it to the other extreme."

"He embraced it. And he…"

"That's not what started this off. And he doesn't want it. At least as far as I can tell he's been pretty keen to get rid of it, only no-one seems able to tell him how."

"Is it possible?"

"No. I make a living trying to replicate what people like you can do naturally. If I could extract it I would have attempted it by now. Tried to find a more effective way to do business."

"Why does he..?"

"I'm speculating. I've looked into his background. Talked with some of the people he talked to. I've done everything except run my theory by the man himself. That was my next stop before all this… But it seems fairly likely."

"I don't…"

"He started asking questions early February. About mind reading. Just… curious at first. A month later his father commits suicide. Tries to kill his new wife. Accuses her of cheating on him, marrying him for his money. Shoots her in the chest but she survives, not that he'd know because he's already shot himself in the head. Only it comes out after his death that she _had_ been having an affair, and his accounts didn't quite add up. It was the motive for the attack but she swears she told no-one what she was doing, not even lover boy. Claims there was absolutely no earthly way he could have known what he seemed to have known."

"You think the son told him. Read her mind and warned his father what she was up to?"

"Didn't go too well for him if he did, did it? He acts on what he hears and his father ends up dead, step mum in hospital, and with her still alive and no new will… well. He ends up with nothing."

"How did this get kept so quiet?"

"What, you think there was a confession lying around. 'My son worked it out using his mind'. No. The story's out there but it doesn't look like anything other than an act of domestic violence unless you look into the characters involved. A few weeks after the funeral he's back visiting psychics, only this time he wants to know how to switch it off. Doesn't seem like such a gift any more. Has too much of a capacity to do harm. Only he doesn't get the answers he's looking for. He's told he's pretty much stuck with it. A few weeks after that and local mind readers start ending up dead."

"Oh my god."

"Perhaps it's the only positive use he could find for it. Working out who was genuinely like him. Who was selling truths that were perhaps best left untold. You view his victims as human because you live in shades of grey, but in his mind things were a lot more black and white."

"He thinks he's helping."

"Ridding the world of something unnatural. Something he has no comprehension of, even if he is one himself. Sound familiar?"

Kane left his spot as Sam's side to allow him to process that, but it required more brain power than he had. He was sure he had merely blinked, but when his eyes opened again Kane was hovering back beside him holding out a bottle of fruit juice.

He took it with shaking hands, curling more deeply into the chair. Kane was being more open with him than he had ever before, but he was almost too tired to appreciate it.

"That's how it started at least." Kane took up when it looked as though Sam was paying attention again. "But it's a slippery slope once you get started. How many genuine mind readers do you think there can be in one suburb? I'm not talking tarot or palm readers here, but actual mind readers."

"The victims weren't all the real thing?"

"Oh they were at first. But the guy from your vision this morning… I'm not sure what his story is but there didn't seem to be anything special about him. I don't doubt that digging deeper would uncover something unpleasant in his character but I don't believe he has psychic powers of any kind, no. By his own logic Ryan should be putting a stop to himself. Maybe he feels he needs a greater purpose to justify not doing that. To use these powers to punish the guilty."

"Or who he thinks of as guilty."

Kane nodded and they fell silent until Sam remembered his original question. "What are you going to do with him when you find him? What deal could you…? You going to show him his higher purpose?"

"It's similar to the one I can offer you. You'll take some convincing but I'm fairly certain he'd take it. He's more desperate for the absolution. You know you both have a lot more in common than you've been letting on. I'm guessing I don't have to tell you how his mother died."

The uncomfortable silence convinced Kane he could probably guess.

"So I'm guessing I'm looking at the prospect of company then." He muttered sarcastically, but it was not an appealing prospect. If this new kid was more willing to play along Sam would lose even the limited influence his use stimulated. "You've spent the last few days stalking psychics. And half of them advertise in the phone book. Why is it such a big deal that..?"

"It's not your powers that make you useful, although I think you've been concealing just how useful they could prove to be. If I could use the blood of just any old psychic you'd hardly be the prize you are. I mean, don't get me wrong they have their uses, but you are something else entirely."

"What?"

And maybe he showed just a little too much interest in what Kane was going to say next, because his demeanour flicked instantly from trying to keep Sam occupied and awake, to intense amusement. "Seriously. You don't get anything for nothing, haven't you figured that one out yet? Maybe when you're a little more inclined to help me I'll be more inclined to help you."

"This Ryan guy's gonna help you, you said that yourself. You really need more than one lackey. It's gonna get awful cramped in the trunk of your car."

"I'm sure Ryan would have his uses. I don't underestimate the benefit having a mind reader in a business meeting could be, especially when price negotiation is concerned, but you… You have the potential to offer so much more. Of course, eventually you're going to have these visions whether you agree to help me or not. It just depends on the level of control you want to have over them. How painful you want them to be. How inconveniently times. You're going to lead me to others like you anyway; you have no control over that. What you can control is how much say you have in what happens after that. What you get to do between the visions. How much you want to learn about yourself and everything that goes on here. You're going to be staying here anyway, you might as well do it in luxury as not. You do want answers don't you?"

"Of course I do. But it's a slippery slope, you said that yourself. I might want the answers but I don't want the cost."

"For the moment at least." Kane agreed, moving away again, but Sam knew that wasn't the last he would hear on the matter. And Kane was right – the answers were tempting, if Kane did in fact have them. Some element of control would be nice if it meant the ability to not have these visions, but Kane had already said it wasn't a matter of switching them off. But he couldn't claim the offer of more autonomy wasn't attractive. More say in the use he was put to. The when and the where and the how much. Kane had already let him knew that if they pulled this off, if Sam helped him avoid immediate persecution, then he would be in more of a position to settle somewhere. Kane had learnt his lesson about spreading Sam to thin. There was more to be gained from being stingy with the amounts he let out there. It would make his products grow in demand and mean the price, when he did issue them, could be astronomical. He couldn't claim that wasn't an appealing notion.

But he couldn't let himself believe he would be any less of a prisoner. He would never be Kane's equal, and by the time he had acquired enough standing to come and go at will, he would not want to. He didn't doubt that. If Kane taught him to tap into his powers, them the more he used it the more it would own him. That was the truth he had always known. It wasn't the knowledge and support that would bind him to Kane; it was the simple fact that he would be seduced by this life. As much as he might try to tell himself he was doing it to work his way into a position where he could leave, he already knew he would be lying to himself. If he started on this path he may never want to leave it, and by the time he felt that transition coming on it would already be too late.

Kane had unhooked him and moved on almost without Sam noticing. Sam could hear him bustling away in the background, no doubt preparing whatever materials would be necessary to take to his out of town site. As far as Sam understood it everything was pretty much already in place, it was only his own contribution that was lacking. At least that would allow Kane to act fast when the time came, and to take the time out to attend this meeting Sam was trying to arrange.

Sam could hear him continue to make calls, a background humming in his mind, but he was not made to move. He was not re-chained to his bed. He was allowed to curl up and sink more deeply into his chair, and he was glad that he was far to weary for Kane's words to haunt him. For them to have any hold on him at all. In fact he didn't come to himself until Kane was in the process of half carrying him to the car. The confusion of waking up in a semi-dragged position, coupled with the blindfold he had expected but didn't immediately understand, almost unsettled them both. But there was a back exit to their cabin and the blindfold was a sleeping mask and Sam as steady on his feet as a drunk, so he didn't hold out the expectation that anyone would see them, or that they would suspect enough to do anything abut it if they did.

Kane only kept him in darkness for a few minutes before removing the mask, and he had to squint against the sudden light.

"Who are we meeting?" he asked when the trepidation grew too much. He'd wanted to ask 'what' are we meeting but he needn't have bothered worrying about the discrepancy because Kane understood the question.

"He's a human. No a particularly nice one mind so don't for a second think you can guilt him into letting you go. Give him even the slightest indication there's any reason you might be of value for anything other than to satisfy my whim and we could have a problem on our hands. Believe me when I tell you, you don't want this guy to keep you."

"What did you tell him?" God his mind needed to wake up. He still had no idea what he was going to tell Dean or how he was going to manoeuvre himself into a position to tell him anything, and he now had very little time left to come up with something.

"Pretty much the truth. That you owe me a favour. That in buying this cure you've indentured yourself to me and I want you back, and what he gets in return is more than enough incentive for him to deliver you here unharmed. But if he catches you attempting to communicate with your brother in any way, leave anything for him, say anything at all to the hospital staff, then he's allowed to take some kind of body part as a souvenir. He has a thing for ears, just so you know. And it's probably not going to take much effort on your part to convince him you're up to something, so it will be in your best interest not to hang about."

"You're offering him my ear in payment?" Sam was feeling slightly dizzy now.

"Too high a price for your brother's life?" Kane asked innocently.

"Well… no… but…"

"Breathe. He's under strict instructions not to mutilate you unless he can prove he had good reason, so you'll have no-one to blame but yourself. Of course, he also has a supply of more poison on him in case you think the ear thing is a fair trade. Your brother won't live to see any message you leave for him."

Kane's contact was waiting for them in a lay-by a few miles further on. Sam didn't doubt the midway point was designed so that he had no idea where the space Kane was going to be operating from was located, and the thick set man leaning out of his truck to greet them had no idea where they were staying. He couldn't help but think it must be exhausting not being able to trust anyone.

"I'll meet you back here in an hour and a half with the merchandise." Kane called out as Sam made to get out of the car.

"An hour and a half? I'm not leaving until I know this works."

"Yes you are. We're on a time scale here. And if you refuse that just gives Carl here the added incentive to hurt you. I've got a lot of work to do tonight, and between dealing with you and getting my clients off our backs I have to meet with O'Conner, because we don't want him getting homicidal in the next 24 hours. You're quite frankly going to have enough to deal with without that."

Sam still glared at him with stubborn refusal in his eyes, and for all his willingness to indulge the lack of immediate intimidation pushed Kane too far.

"We do this my way or I pour this out right now!" He snarled, holding the vile containing Dean's antidote out the window. "Let Dean die for all I care. I have you and I have my supplies and I'm no longer in the city. Prichard can't touch me. The only reason I need to go back in is because the kid's still there, and that's for your benefit not mine. You know, maybe if I hadn't been so accommodating in the first place I wouldn't have so many problems now. So don't push me Sam."

"But you said…"

"You have your uses by my sense of self preservation is stronger than my desire to plan ahead. And let's face it, anything happens to you I always have a spare lined up. One that won't get randomly fucked up by visions. I'll be in a stronger position than I was this time last week. If I'm not _sure_ you're going to co-operate then it's in my best interest _not_ to let you go. So. Am I going to meet you here in an hour and a half or are we getting out of here right now?"

Sam merely nodded and held his hand out for the vile, not trusting himself to speak. There had been so much going on in the past week, threats closing in from all directions, and he had been so confused and tired that he had come very close to forgetting one very important fact. Kane scared the shit out of him. And he had not survived for so long in this business by accommodating the desires of others.

He took the antidote without a word and got out of the car. It was only the fear that Kane might take any sign of faltering as a change of heart that enabled him to make it the short distance to the truck without falling, an undignified wobbling hop but it did what it needed to do and he managed to hold off the shaking until he was tucked away in the truck out of sight. Carl no doubt saw, but he didn't care about that. He no doubt expected nothing less.

The other man said nothing to him the entire way to the hospital, just threw him the occasional knowing glance, but apart from that, and once leaning over to move Sam's hair back behind his ear, he gave no indication he even realised there was someone else in the car. That suited Sam fine; even if it did set him off swallowing convulsively, because if he had to open his mouth to attempt conversation he couldn't be help responsible for what came out of it. But it wouldn't be anything Carl would thank him for.

It soon became apparent that patience was not one of burly Carl's virtues. The pace that Sam set trying to make his way from the car park to the main hospital entrance seemed to irritate him beyond reason, and he had to get a lot closer than Sam felt comfortable with to physically drag him indoors and fling him in the first disused wheelchair he could find.

Sam couldn't help the way his eyes darted around the waiting room while Carl studied the hospital plan to find direction to Dean's room. He didn't think Bobby would be here; he couldn't help but hope not because that would mean he had no other leads to follow. But if he was or had left anyone else on guard then Sam would need to warn them not to approach, not to make his body guard suspicious, at least until after he had administered the antidote. He didn't know how Kane had managed to find Dean's room details given they had no idea what name he would have been checked in under, but he knew better than to be surprised.

Sam would not give Carl the satisfaction of knowing how much setting foot, or more accurately being wheeled, into that hospital room bothered him. Kane had warned him what to expect, and in truth the sight that greeted him was nowhere near as bad as the one he had been expecting, but all the same he had not had enough mental faculties left in reserve to prepare himself for it. Dean looked to be merely sleeping. Sam knew that Kane had planed the dosage so that it would keep him incapacitated but kill him slowly, extend the amount of time Dean and his associates attentions were diverted from the trail. This meant that besides a machine monitoring his vitals and an IV of what he suspected was pain relief, Dean was remarkably unencumbered, and he looked to be peaceful. But the peace and stillness of the room were such a contrast to the turmoil in his mind that it was disorientating.

He had caught one milliseconds glimpse of his brother in almost three weeks, and in the days before their separation he had been stressed and erratic. So much had happened in both their lives since they had last met it was almost like approaching a stranger; intruding where he didn't belong. And he was again struck by that powerful notion that he shouldn't be here, was somehow contaminating the very air Dean breathed, disturbing his rest by his mere presence. And yet at the same time Sam drew to a halt at that bedside to be greeted with such am overwhelming sense of 'rightness'. He had to close his eyes and breathe it in. Dean might be unconscious, but sitting here bedside him, for the first time in three weeks Sam felt truly safe.

Carl was methodical and Sam knew he had been schooled by Kane as to what to expect, and he waited patiently while the other man did his thing before making his presence known. He wasn't sure if Dean could hear him, Kane wasn't even sure; Sam doubted he let many people be in a position to tell him that, so he knew Carl would be monitoring any conversation closely in case he gave anything away. And he didn't trust his voice yet, he wasn't sure where it had gone, and he couldn't bring himself to start this one sided conversation with the other man still in the room. It was bad enough knowing he was going to hear the waver in Sam's voice and report it back to Kane. Sam didn't want him to see it too.

Rifling though the draws surrounding Dean's bed Carl confiscated his phone – Sam knew he'd return it when they left – and emptied out the pockets of his clothes onto the chair by the bed. There was no wallet; Bobby had no doubt already removed that. There was a small notepad in his jacket which Carl flicked though disdainfully and left idly out, no doubt to taunt Sam with what they had been doing. He might not know why Sam was with Kane but he knew enough to doubt it was by choice, and to expect his family would be looking for him. But he confiscated Dean's pen and broke the lead out if his pencil, returning it to Sam with an evil smile, relishing his impotence.

While he was doing this Sam retrieved Dean's chart from the foot of the bed and was studying it. It didn't tell him anything he didn't already know, and he hadn't even seen the pen attached to the side of it until Carl was snatching the whole thing out of his hands.

He couldn't steal the pen without taking the whole board, which he would no doubt have done if he'd had to, although milling about in the corridor with it might have taken some explaining. But when he tested the pen on a clean page of Dean's note pad it was to confirm with a snort of disapproval that it didn't even work, so he allowed Sam to have it back.

Finally satisfied that the room was secure and he had left no excuse to incur Kane's wrath, and after a thorough and slightly invasive search of Sam and the chair that just emphasised how badly neither of them wanted to get on the wrong side of the merchant, Carl finally left. He pulled the curtain slightly so it was concealing Sam from the door and hovered behind it, no doubt watching out for approaching medical personnel. Not only did be need to limit the number of people Sam spoke to or was seen by, but being interrupted while injecting a strange green fluid into a patient was potentially going to attract more attention than either of them would like.

"Hey." Sam whispered at last, when they were as alone as they were going to be, but an elaborate throat clearing from Carl told him that if he wasn't going to say something that could easily be overheard, he wasn't going to say anything at all. And Sam was grateful for the curtain so he couldn't see the sting of frustrated tears now that Sam was so close to Dean yet denied the privacy to be with him.

There was too much that he wanted to say; too much that he wanted to apologise for, but then there always was, and he knew Dean already knew all that he wanted to tell him. And his priority should be getting this antidote into him while he still remembered how.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but there was no obvious change in Dean's vitals or appearance before and after the cure had been administered. He knew Kane had said it would take time to work through his system but he couldn't pretend he hadn't wanted Dean to instantly open his eyes and come up with a plan that would save him. Because Sam had been doubtful that he would even get this far, and had absolutely no idea where to go from here.

In front of him was an open window. Behind him an open door. But between him and freedom there was either a four story drop or a butch guy with an ear fetish. And smack between these two options was Dean. He wouldn't have been able to leave had he been free to do so. Now the cure was out of the way his attention should have been on escape, but he could not leave this room. He could not leave Dean and Carl alone. As long as his brother was still vulnerable there was absolutely nothing he could do but allow himself to be wheeled away. To be taken back to Kane. He could feel the fresh air on his skin, the slowly returning warmth of his brother's arm in his grasp, but soon he would have to give that up. Soon he would have to go.

The room was too quiet but he couldn't bring himself to break it. He could say nothing without the steadily increasing sense of panic displaying itself in his voice, and as much as he wanted to issue some kind of reassurance that he was here, that in the grand scheme of things he was alright, ease some of the manic worry he knew Dean must have been living through, he knew he would never be able to sell it. Dean would hear his fear not his words. The only comfort he could offer was non-verbal, of the kind Dean would not have allowed were he not currently unconscious, and Sam could only hope that he had enough awareness to know it was Sam that was offering it, that he might take from the sheer fact that he had been here at all some of the information he wanted to be able to pass on. Most importantly that he was still hanging on, trying desperately to be strong.

Carl's patience lasted almost 15 minutes; he was obviously taking Sam's silence as a sign he had nothing to say. He seemed slightly taken aback by the vehemence with which Sam refused point blank to be removed from his brother's room until his hour and a half was up. Kane was not going to be idly sitting by waiting for them to return. He had too much work to do. He and Carl were stuck with each other until the deadline was up. There was no way they were going to be spending the time in the cab of Carl's truck in a lay-by waiting for the merchant to return. There was no way he was being made to leave this room any sooner than was strictly necessary, ear obsession or no. To say he had needed to be aided into the room and could put up no physical opposition if the other man decided to just remove him from it, he still managed to convey the extent of his objection in the way he practically snarled out his refusal. But there was no way he would be late for their meeting; it was not an option. They were both too worried about eliciting Kane's disapproval for that.

They exchanged drawn out scowls but Carl eventually backed off, taking a seat at Sam's side, arms moodily folded, but when Sam continued to stare pointedly he eventually took the hint and dragged his chair back around the curtain to keep watch. But again Sam could find no comfort in the illusion of privacy knowing the other man was still so near. Could still hear his ever move.

He would not be able to hold the other man's boredom at bay for long. Soon he was going to have to leave, and when he did all the chance of Dean being able to find him would leave too. There was no point in him having gone to the trouble of suggesting a meeting between Kane and this Ryan guy if the merchant was going to be the only one who walked away with anything useful from it. If he'd known where he was staying it would provide the ideal distraction for Dean to remove him while Kane's back was turned, but he didn't know if he would be taken back to the cabin or whisked away to the new out of town lodging.

He needed to somehow get Dean in on that meeting. Kane had a busy night ahead of him, numerous people and prizes to juggle. If Dean and Bobby could track Kane back to Sam, Kane might just provide his own distraction.

But another ten minutes were up and he was no nearer working out how.

He clutched Dean's chart close to his chest as though it could somehow offer protection from his brother's disapproval. It was insane that they could be sat in the same room with no way to proceed. There would never be another opportunity like this. And he knew Dean must have tried so hard. Have done so much. He had managed to trace them to the neighbouring cabin. And he was leaving this last stage up to Sam, and Sam was going to let him down. Was going to set him back on his endless quest. He could see the physical toll the last weeks had taken, the way his brother's face was lined even in sleep, and he couldn't help the overwhelming gratitude even if he didn't want this blind devotion to have to continue.

But even as he was watching that familiar face, even though Dean's eyes were closed, Sam could sense there was something lacking. Something in Dean's very essence had died, and while he wanted so badly to be able to give it back to him, he wished that he didn't have to be the one to fill it.

Dean's notebook was still on the chair beside him, next to Dean's bed. Most of the pages were full, testament to how much Dean had cared, and a brief surreptitious flick showed a list of names and dates of birth, and he knew now with a pang that Dean had been so close. That if it wasn't for this stupid episode right here he would probably have made it to that meeting himself. So he closed the book with a sigh, trying to block out the sting of frustrated tears.

The water distorted his vision and he lost himself momentarily in tracing the swirling pattern that showed up in the light, dancing across the blank page. Carls hurried empty scribble.

And it was suddenly so obvious he was furious at himself for having taken so long to figure it out. For having cut this so fine, because Carl was shifting and any second now be was going to be interrupted. He needed something to keep Carl momentarily at bay, something to block out the minute scratching noise.

"Okay I have to go in a minute." He said, at last breaking the silence, loud enough that Carl would easily be able to hear and not come barging in demanding he speak more clearly, but it halted his shuffling and Sam knew the other man would allow him his goodbye.

"Now, this was a one time deal, alright, so don't you… We don't get to do this again." And that, at least, was true. "So… I think… I think it's time to stop looking now okay." And there was an element of genuine acceptance behind his words, because if this was too subtle, if they couldn't pull this off, then Sam didn't want Dean walking this path forever. It would only get him killed. "I know that you tried… I know that you…" he sighed. He could imagine, but he really and truly had no comprehension of what Dean had endured. The year that Sam had put him through. "You know that I won't blame you. You know this is my fault, so don't… please don't blame yourself, and…" His breath caught in his throat and he could find no more words, but they had served their purpose.

He would be returned to Kane now. Dean's vitals looked stronger than they had half an hour ago, but he was yet to show any signs of waking. The only way he would know if this cure had worked would be if Dean showed up and told him.

He would be returned to Kane, and he knew what was waiting there. Knew that before Kane left for his meeting he would take his payment from Sam. A weeks backlog worth. And while there was never a question that he would willingly do it to get Dean back, he honestly didn't know if it would make any difference. He had done all he could, his mind had no more need to be strong, and he could feel his awareness splintering at the edges. Feel the shock of the last few weeks finally setting in, as though the sight of what it had done to Dean had finally made it real. Not just his own individual nightmare but something that had more reaching effects. And he knew he wasn't strong enough, but he knew Kane could not back down now. That his need to keep Sam well and a set of random circumstances had conspired to take that choice away from them. Kane would take what he needed from Sam, as much as he needed. He wouldn't back out when it had begun. But Sam knew for sure he would keep his meeting with Ryan, no matter how inconveniently timed. It was the same sense of self preservation that would keep the blood flowing past the point that Sam could endure it. He wasn't just trying to stop the visions now; Kane was lining up a replacement. Because he must have a firmer grasp than Sam on just what his body could handle.

So before Carl wheeled him away Sam had time to offer up one last apology. Because he would try, they would both try, but there was a chance now that Sam would be too weak to wait for him.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

**Chapter Seventeen**

Dean was probably awake for almost twenty minutes before he was aware of it. The fuzzy whiteness in his mind was the same this side of consciousness as the other, and his thoughts were just as thick and made as little sense. It was only when he sensed another, bustling, presence in the room, one he could not immediately account for, that his instincts kicked in and he tried to open his eyes. They were slow to obey and he was just in time to see a petite figure retreating from the room.

His head felt thick and his mouth was dry, and while he couldn't remember drinking he couldn't think of any better way to explain how he currently felt. The way the dull light of the room hurt his eyes, the churning in his stomach. He tried to dredge up any memory of the night before. To be waking up in this state in a strange bed it must have been hell of a time, so it was disconcerting that he could remember nothing of it.

But the more he thought about it the more the events of the last week came back to him. He had until now successfully quelled the urge to drown his sorrows in drink. He had wanted to, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to remember the events that had led to this point; the decision that a clear head and the determination to move forwards were perhaps no longer needed. He remembered no bar, just the sensation of having felt warm and safe and needed. Somehow more whole than he had in weeks…

Which made him think of Sam, which made him remember the photo he had seen, which made him recall the dart and the world cascading into darkness. And he sat bolt upright with a start, and at least the wave of nausea at that action made more sense even if it was unwelcome.

He was in a hospital bed. How long had he been in a hospital bed? He didn't need to conduct a sweep of the room to know he was alone. Had something happened to Bobby? He had no idea what happened in the cabin after he blacked out, how many other traps Kane had set. Whether or not they'd come any closer to finding Sam. He couldn't shake the feeling his brother had been here at some point. If they had found him trust Dean to have slept through it. But it would explain why Bobby wasn't here; if he'd left Sam alone for a second he must surely know Dean would kick his ass, massive hangover or not.

He propped himself up in the bed, wanting to adjust slowly to the sensation of being upright. He wanted to storm out of bed and demand answers, but he also didn't want to spend the next hour, or any possible reunion with his brother, covered in vomit, so he would take it easy. But he would continually hammer the call button until he got some kind of response.

And it was not the one he wanted. Between being prodded and assessed by nurses and doctors who apparently had no idea what had caused either his sudden illness or mystery loss of symptoms, he managed to pick up the information that he had been whisked from the campsite, Bobby had accompanied him here and stayed until he was stabilised, then he had left. And he hadn't returned. Dean had been here five hours, Bobby had rung in twice, but as far as they were aware no-one else had enquired about him at all.

Trying not to feel put out that he had been abandoned here, knowing that Bobby would have had his reasons, and that one of them would have been the inevitable pummelling if Dean woke up and found out he'd let Sam's trail grow cold to stay with him, he did the only thing he could to get the answers he needed. He demanded that they discharge him.

The doctors were understandably reluctant but he refused to take no for an answer. If Kane had poisoned him he should be dead now. The fact that he wasn't made very little sense, not that he was complaining. But he doubted the hospital was the place to find out what had happened.

He let them believe they had won a small victory in refusing to let him leave until Bobby returned to collect him, to make sure someone was on hand to monitor his condition in case of a relapse. He didn't waste the effort telling them he would be calling Bobby anyway. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to his car or how the investigation had progressed in his absence.

Bobby was understandably confused to hear from him, and it was the relief in the other man's voice more than the doctors fussing or the fact he was in a hospital that brought home to Dean exactly what had happened. That the shaking and the grogginess were perhaps to be expected. That if Bobby and the hospital had not played a part in his recovery it was slightly unnerving that he was still alive.

They kept the conversation brief; they could not go into details while Dean was still being guarded by a nurse, who was now complaining that he had ransacked his room and turned out his own pockets, leaving everything scattered across the table and chair beside him. Having only regained consciousness, or semi-awareness, less than ten minutes ago it was a slightly unfair accusation, but he couldn't deny it had been done.

The surfaces beside him were in total disarray. He had never realised he carried so much junk around with him on a daily basis. But carefully placed in the centre of the chaos, pencil tucked into the spiral spine in an achingly familiar way, was the note pad he had been working from in the hospital this morning. It was lying open at an empty page, and the small lamp beside it had been angled to point directly at this blank surface.

He didn't know why he was so curious, except he knew despite the staffs assertions that something had taken place here that meant he was no longer at death's door. That and the fact the book was sitting neat and precise, a focus of calm amid the clutter of Dean's life.

But the page that had been left open was empty, apart from a few fine grooves across its surface that…

"Can you hand me a pencil?" He asked urgently.

The nurse just nodded to the one in his hand.

"It's broken."

Rolling her eyes she fished in her pockets and produced a pen.

"I asked for a pencil." He replied, trying to remain patient.

She sighed as though this was the most unreasonable request that anyone had ever asked of her, and took such a long time finding him one that he had already deciphered most of the marks under his lamp by the time she got back.

He practically snatched the pencil from the woman's hand when she finally returned, too focused on the object in his hand and what it potentially represented to worry about being polite. Shading over the whole page he was able to uncover the message in full, but the words meant less to him than that familiar scrawl.

_Ryan O'Conner. _

_Tonight._

_Follow._

_DO NOT ENGAGE._

And tucked away towards the bottom like an afterthought:

_Prichard._

The marks underneath that were meaningless, as though Sam had put pen to paper before realising he had no idea what to say. But they somehow meant more to Dean than the clinical, factual information he had provided before them. Because what could Sam have said? What reassurance or encouragement or words of any kind could he have left after all this time that would be more important than the fact he had been here at all? That he had been in this room, and in any position to want or be able to leave a personal message to Dean of any kind.

The nurse's brisk demeanour shifted instantly letting Dean know some of the shock he was feeling was reflected on his face. He was starting to feel shaky again. Sam had been in this room. This cold sterile room that suddenly held more warmth than its right.

Sam had been right here and Dean had slept through it. Bobby had left. They had both missed him. He had sat there silent and alone, but he had sat there. And despite his manic questioning and demands for answers no-one seemed to have seen him. No-one could tell him what he needed to know; no-one could describe how he had looked, could provide him in minute detail his every intonation and expression. Whether he had been alone or where he might have gone or in fact any detail at all. He was so starved for contact at this point he didn't really know what he wanted. Anything at all would be more than he already had.

But he still had enough awareness to hold off emitting the full force of his need, partly because the room was starting the spin a little, and partly because he was suddenly aware of the noise he was making. Because Dean was alive even though it made no sense for him to be. He might have been feeling drained but even Dean had enough mental faculties left in reserve to work out what that meant. Sam had slipped in and done his best not to be seen. The only sign he had been here had been hidden; there was every chance Dean would have missed the hint completely.

If Sam had been in any position to leave a more blatant clue he would have. He doubted Sam would have left him here if he'd been given the choice. He'd wanted to let Dean know he'd been here, to pass that information on, but he hadn't wanted the action seen. And Dean had just announced it to the entire room.

And he knew now more clearly why Sam had not been able to find the words to leave him because honestly, how could Dean have found any reassurance in anything he might have said? Because Sam was alive and Sam had been here and Sam had saved him. But he was gone now. And his visit here would not have come without a price.

He was dressed and waiting when Bobby got there, studying Sam's message and trying to stop shaking. He was beginning to get over the vertigo of being out of bed but he was still weak.

Bobby started with questions as soon as he'd got through the door, and the only answer Dean had was that one piece of paper with his brother's handwriting on it, which he held out to show the other man but refused to let go of. And Dean was somehow more grateful than ever for those unintelligible symbols at the bottom because Bobby had been his anchor through all of this but he wanted to keep Sam's attempt at comfort to himself.

"Ryan O'Conner? Does that name mean anything to you?" Bobby asked once they were out of the hospital and in the fresh air. "He must have thought it would or he would have left something more specific."

"We don't know if he had anything more specific. Or the time if he did." They had no idea what it had cost Sam to leave them this clue. Wasting it was not an option.

"Who or what's Prichard?"

"Not that I _can_ answer." Bobby replied, fighting the urge to lay a steadying hand on Dean's arm to ferry him more swiftly across the car park.

"Well?"

"He's a merchant like Kane. Bit of a newbie on the scene by all accounts. Not much is known about him except the area he operates from. No prizes for guessing where that might be."

"Here?" Bobby might have thought it was obvious but it took Dean by surprise. "I thought Kane was trying to avoid other merchants as much as he could."

"As much as he could," Bobby agreed, "But when this started up maybe he felt he didn't have a choice. Or what he stood to gain here was worth the risk. Prichard's not happy though, and is pretty vocal in his annoyance."

"He knows Kane's here?"

"He does now." Bobby replied with a mischievous grin.

"You… how did you even..?"

"It took a lot of work. And no way am I going to be able to get in touch with him direct. But it was pretty obvious even without the analysis that whatever was in the dart was going to be beyond something the doctors could fix. If Kane made it, maybe someone like Kane would know how to unmake it." He shrugged.

"You contacted Prichard to get a cure?" Dean's head was spinning more than it had been a few moments ago, "What the hell! Bobby!"

"Like I'm going to sit back and let you die while there's an alternative" Bobby riled.

"And he wouldn't help?" Dean was grateful despite his exasperation, but the fact it had taken Sam's intervention suggested Prichard had been unwilling to deal.

"Oh, he was willing to help, yes. Only he wanted something other than money in return."

Dean nodded in understanding and semi-relief. Bobby at least had not been willing to hand over more than he could easily or comfortably part with.

"He wanted Kane."

"He… what?"

"Even trade. Your life for his. Or at least for his whereabouts. It's hardly surprising. He wasn't going to do it for free and it isn't really in his best interest to let you live. Apart from the benefit of having someone as pissed at Kane as he is."

"And Sam probably knew that." Dean mused.

"Knew what?"

"That Prichard would be willing to trade against his best interest to take Kane down. Including handing over to us some of Kane's assets…" He had always known they would need some form of outside help, maybe divine intervention, if they were going to reach Kane and have any lasting effect. Another trader like him wasn't exactly what he'd considered, but it was someone who had enough incentive. And if it got him Sam back, at this point he would be prepared to make any deal. "Do you know how to reach him?"

"I could probably get a message to him, passed along several sources, but… You don't bother people like this unless you _know_ you have something definitive to offer. We can't help Sam if we're in hiding ourselves. It isn't a call to make unless Kane is in your sights."

"What time is it?" Dean asked, still coming to terms with his lost time.

"Getting on for seven. 'Tonight.' That's pretty vague. What go you think he meant by..?"

"After it gets dark, but apart from that… You know, I'd suggest we go back to that phonebook if I didn't _know_ things were never that easy." But even as he was saying it Bobby was pulling up along side a phone booth with a shrug. They deserved a break.

There were four O'Conner's in the immediate area, but none of the ones listed was a Ryan. "We've got a Jesse, and Arthur, a Marcus or a…"

"Wait. Arthur? Arthur O'Conner. Why does that sound familiar?" Dean muttered, rummaging through his notes, loathed as he was to turn the page from Sam's message.

"Here we go. Arthur and Sally O'Conner had a baby. Boy. Born 6th Feb 1985. And they called it Ryan. Tell me there's an address." But Bobby was already jotting one down.

They managed to situate themselves outside Ryan O'Conner's family home less than half an hour later. Not long after that they managed to get visual confirmation that a man in his early twenties, matching the description Kane and Bobby had both been given, did indeed live there.

"What now?" Bobby asked, glancing at his watch.

"We wait."

It was what Sam had told him to do. He had gone out of his way to stress they not talk to this guy, approach him at all, and Dean could only trust it was in their best interest not to. Sam wanted to be found, Dean didn't doubt that. He must also have known Dean's first instinct on finding the one they had all spent so long looking for would be to barge in and demand answers. To find out all he knew. It was torture sitting outside in the truck with the key to this within his reach.

But then Sam had known that. With a smile Dean realised another interpretation for those elusive scribbles at the bottom of the page. Some kind of warning or apology to heed his words no matter the strain. But he knew he needn't have bothered. They were Sam's wishes and he would obey them no matter how much the inactivity hurt. Not being able to do as Sam asked hurt a lot more. And the last instruction Sam had given him, that last request to not do anything to overtly hunt Kane down… He had ignored that order and they had all paid the price.

"What do you think this is about?" Bobby broke the silence at last, and for the first time since this had started Dean actually heard the anxiety in his voice. Night had truly fallen and lights were on in the O'Conner house. They had positioned themselves so they could see both the front and side doors of the house. Whatever was coming they couldn't afford to miss it, but they would have to strain now to pick up moving shadows in the dark.

"I don't know but Sam seemed to think we needed to be here. That this kid is going to leave and it's in our best interests to follow. You know, if Sam knows who this guy is Kane probably does too. He either heard the name from Kane or saw it in a vision. All he has to do is say the word and Kane's here too. He said follow. This guy could lead us right to him."

Bobby said nothing. He'd already been thinking the same thing, but he couldn't quell the sense of unease. He knew it was in Sam's nature to err on the side of caution, but not only had he warned them not to approach this guy, but he had underlined it four times. If he'd been pushed for time it was a message he must have _really_ wanted to get across.

Dean sighed and tried not to latch onto the unease coming off the other man. He had dreamed of an opportunity like this for so long, he hadn't expected it to feel this way. He's expected excitement and hope, but while the determination was still there he was feeling sick in a way he knew was not just the after-effects of the poison. He normally had no problem with winging it, with grabbing hold of an advantage as it came his way, but Sam had been within his reach, or more accurately he had been within Sam's. But it had been temporary and he was feeling the loss of contact more heavily than he had for a while because it seemed fresh again and new. He was so scared of failing, of not measuring up to the image Sam must hold in his mind. The one he had trusted to do this. To figure out in time what was needed.

It was late by the time Ryan stirred, gone eleven, but it was hardly their first stake out and the prize was too important and their attention had never wavered in the almost four hours they'd been sat there. And Ryan didn't even attempt to conceal his action; he merely marched out of his front door and into the car without a care in the world.

It was a long drive and he kept to the quieter back roads, which meant Bobby had to be careful about keeping his distance in a conspicuous truck, but it didn't take them long to figure out they were heading for the docks.

He parked outside a disused warehouse to cover the last distance on foot, and after a suitable interval they followed.

Ryan seemed new to the whole illicit meeting thing because he close a spot to wait under a street light, but that suited Dean just fine. He could chose a spot in the deepest shadow he could find and wait to see how this played out. He still had a few minutes left to think. At this time and this place he knew Kane had gone for the midnight meet. He may be theatrical but he was also traditionally predictable.

They were lucky. Kane approached from the opposite direction, stepping out of the darkness so effectively that even though they had been deliberately watching both Dean and Bobby failed to see where he had come from. But he was here. Dean was faced with the first glimpse of the merchant in three weeks.

For a brief moment there was no air in the world and his vision blacked over completely. He could feel the reassuring weight of Bobby's hand on his shoulder and his view of the alley came back, but the stifling rage was not gone. He knew Bobby's hand was placed less for support and more to stop him from charging right now and beating the other man to death, but this time around he would hold back. The effort of it caused his whole body to shake and his muscles to cramp from holding them in this locked immobile position, but he would not budge from this spot. It was possible he wouldn't have to. He could take out his gun right now and put a bullet between the merchant's eyes before he even knew they were here, but if he did that there would be no-one left to lead him to Sam.

Bobby let go of him and held up his phone wordlessly, eyebrow's raised. He would get in touch with Prichard but he would not leave this spot until Dean assured him he would not do anything rash while his back was turned.

Dean nodded and crouched down to wait, creeping forwards so he could more easily hear what was going on between the other two men. Why Kane would have gone to the time and effort to meet him here, and why the other figure was showing absolutely no sign that anything untoward was afoot. It worried Dean slightly that the younger man was not worried, and he could tell it surprised Kane slightly too. He was probably used to demonstrations of fear in those he used, and that thought alone had him breathing deeply to push down the suffocating hate.

"…some arrangement that would be mutually beneficial. You must be aware I can provide some effective ways of allowing you to pursue your own interests…"

"You're not telling me everything."

"Why would you think...?"

"If you were, you wouldn't be working so hard to keep parts of your mind concealed from me. I might not be able to see what you've got locked away in those little compartments, but did you really think I wouldn't notice they were there?"

"Of course not. In fact, I was counting on it. Because it intrigues you doesn't it? That I could have something that's hidden from you. I'm perhaps one of the few people you've come across recently that have. But you know enough to know how lucky you are that you're getting this offer. I _will_ get what I want, whether you agree to it or not."

They were smiling at each other arrogantly now, Ryan obviously under the impression Kane was insane if he thought he could make him do anything he didn't want to, Kane, no doubt rightfully, aware that Ryan was a fool for not believing that he could. They were both murderers. They could both take each other out for all he cared, but not before he got Sam's whereabouts out of them first. He had thought he wanted to kill Kane with his own hands, to at the very least watch him die in a fit of excruciating pain, and part of him did, but he wanted his brother back more. And for that Kane would have to be alive. For now.

"He must have been incredibly weak to have caved to you without providing decent opposition. Hardly worth the effort if you ask me."

"What do you..?"

"Sam."

Kane's glimmer of surprise at the sound of that name was almost lost on Dean and he had to clench his knuckles to bare the prospect of these two people discussing his brother; daring to say his name at all. But he held on to the knowledge that Bobby would be getting a message through to Prichard while they wasted time on the one that had allowed Dean to track them here. Let them underestimate him. It would be the death of them.

"Who's Prichard?"

Kane's surprise at that was less easy to conceal. Dean could almost feel their dynamic shifting but he wasn't easily able to account for it.

"How do you know that name?" He was weary now, "No-one here said that name."

"No, but they thought it."

"I never…"

"I'm not saying you did."

"Then…"

Oh dear.

So the kid was a mind reader. Sam might have specified that instead of just stipulating they not get too close.

"Who's there!" Kane demanded, as though now he had been told as much he could sense for himself that someone was here, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the shadows where Dean was hidden. He was trying to decide whether to admit he was here or attempt to slink away but Kane was already striding in his direction and he had very little choice.

So he stood. He took one step out of the shadows that hid him.

"Alright Kane?" He tried to keep his voice jaunty, like they were merely meeting on a late night stroll. He would not let his nerves or his anger show, the memory of how quickly their last and only conversation had got away from him.

Yup. Definite surprise now. But he recovered quickly.

"Dean. This is a pleasant surprise. Tell me, are you here under your own steam or are my associates imbeciles?"

"What can I say, I'm resourceful" he replied, even as the image of Sam's note flashed before his mind.

"He left a message in grooves in a note pad. Your man left him an empty pen and a pad of paper." Ryan sounded almost bored.

Shit. This was going to get annoying fast.

Kane did his best to keep his expression neutral but Ryan's grin only widened.

"What me to tell you what he's thinking?" he taunted Dean, causing Kane to throw him an angry glare. "Relax. He wants you dead as it is, I don't think knowing the punishment you've got lined up is going to make much difference to his feelings at this point. Although he seems fairly confident that it isn't going to happen. That you're insane if you think you're going to get to touch Sam again."

"Yes but I'm fairly certain he felt that way before, and how did that work out for you Dean?"

He would not rise to the bait. He would not let his emotions get out of control because he would not give Ryan any more opportunity to read him than he already had. He seemed to enjoy taunting Kane but when it came down to it, he would not be on Dean's side.

"Oh I might. It you let me go on my merry way. But in a choice between Prichard and Kane, well…"

"Where's Sam?"

"I don't know."

"He does."

"That's not how it works" Ryan sighed. Kane's eyes were closed, his breathing calm. Dean knew he was schooling himself to keep his emotions in check. That maybe through some kind of meditation he could conceal certain elements of his plans. Ryan had already accused him of as much. If Dean wanted Kane to spill he would need to break Kane's calm. He didn't think he was the one to do that; as long as he still had Sam Kane held too much power over him. Fortunately he was fairly certain he knew a person who could.

"Neither of you have answered my question. Who's Prichard?"

"Why do you want to know?" Kane asked warily.

"Because he's on his way. I thought it might be a good idea to know something about him before I meet him."

"My you have been busy."

"Oh not him. The other one."

"Thanks." Dean acknowledged. He'd been hoping that Bobby at least might have been able to sit through this unnoticed. Which was ridiculous really because if Dean knew he was here, then Ryan…

"Over there. In the corner by the fence."

Great.

"Tell him to come out."

Dean signed. He'd been worried not knowing what to expect. He would probably have been more worried if he'd known.

"I said tell him to come out."

"Bobby?" Dean called. He at least had no idea where the other man was. "You wanna come join the party?"

"He says not really." Ryan smiled, but movement behind him told Dean that Bobby had indeed decided to emerge.

"They only have to keep us occupied for the next ten minutes." Ryan told Kane conspiratorially, "This Prichard guy's on his way."

Dean threw Bobby an irritated glance but the other man just shrugged unapologetically. As if meditation and learning to protect his thoughts was something he'd ever bothered to learn.

"You're bluffing." Kane was doing a darn sight better at keeping his face neutral than he had at their poker game all those weeks back.

"How can we be? This guy didn't even know who Prichard was until two minutes ago?"

"But you did. You could be feeding him this."

"Why would he help us?"

"Why would Prichard?"

"Because you have a tendency of late to poke yourself where you don't belong." Bobby spoke up at last. "Take things that don't belong to you. It's not surprising it tends to piss people off."

"And you really think Prichard's going to give you what you want?"

"I think he's more likely to than you are. Especially since we've given him what he wants."

"And that is..?"

"You." Dean said quietly. "You're not leaving here before he gets here. Not unless you tell me where my brother is." He might be their last hope but there was a reasonable possibility that Prichard would not hand Sam over either. Or Kane would not give up his location, in which case allowing Prichard to have his way with the merchant would solve nothing. Even if it would be incredibly satisfying in the short term.

"Let him come. He won't touch me without proof that I've been acting on his land, he risks looking like a loose cannon if he does, and I think you'll find with you being alive and all, he has no proof."

So that was how Sam had done it. Convinced Kane to cure him and known that Prichard would be his weak spot.

"Everything has a price" Ryan told him, for the first time looking him straight in the eye.

"What was it?" His throat was suddenly dry.

"He doesn't want me to know. And yet he doest think it's something I would be against, given what can come of it." He shrugged, then smiled when he must have realised how the casual way he was taking this whole situation was unnerving Dean.

"What about the fact you're here at all?" Bobby cut in. "Midnight meetings with mind readers in an out of the way location. I'd take that as being 'active' if I were Prichard."

"And he probably will." Kane agreed, "Only unfortunately for you, Prichard's borders start about half a mile in that direction." Kane pointed away to their left. "I'm not stupid, why do you think I picked this spot? And before you ask – I called young Ryan here on the phone. There's no evidence that I've been soliciting clients or producing wares anywhere I shouldn't have been. Saving your life saw to that. Your friend here might have been in more of a position to bargain had you been dead. You must be Bobby by the way, I don't believe we've met," he bowed in the other man's direction. Bobby just looked mildly taken aback.

"And Prichard's going to make sure it stays that way." Dean continued, trying to at least conceal his panic from Kane. If they'd bothered Prichard for nothing this could potentially end very unpleasantly. "Now he knows where you are you can pretty much guarantee you're going to be watched. The second you do anything he doesn't like… God I really hope I'm there to see it." he continued wistfully.

"He won't get to see anything incriminating because there's nothing to see. It's been nice talking to you but Ryan and I really must be on out way. We're leaving now, and when I say leaving I don't just mean you. I mean this place. As in never to return. I don't know what he might have led you to believe but Prichard isn't going to stalk me indefinitely. You see, that would put him in the wrong. So I'm afraid, gentlemen, he really can't touch me. Now come on Ryan. We've still got matters to discuss." Kane actually turned to go, and Dean knew he was watching the last hope of finding Sam pulling away from him. They would try, but Kane would not let them follow now he knew they were here. And if he really was leaving town, it could be a long time before they caught his trail again. But he couldn't just let this man leave. Not when he knew who he was heading towards…

"Where's Sam?" Even Ryan seemed unable to account for the strange mixture of calm curiosity in that question, but Bobby knew him well and understood at once. And the slight falter in Kane's eyes only confirmed it.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding" Bobby crowed. "Surely you weren't that stupid." But the slight flush in Kane's cheek gave him away.

"I think a hostage is going to be taken as a business venture, don't you?" Dean pointed out.

"You never know, he might just keep young men tied to his bed for his own amusement." Ryan chimed in, "It's not outside the realms of possibility. Although, okay I admit, he doesn't think it's very likely either."

"You can't go back for him. Kane. _Listen _to me. You are _not_ leaving now." Dean made a move towards him. There was no way he was leaving here before the other merchant arrived. "If you go back for him Prichard will kill you, he might even kill you both. Look. You still have time to leave before he gets here; even if you don't you can still walk away from this without incurring his wrath in anything but an abstract form. Is going back for Sam really worth the risk? You'll never be able to get him out. You'll never be able to explain why you have him. Even if Prichard doesn't kill you you're still going to lose Sam if he knows he was worth going back for. You can't win this. So just tell me where he is." He was aware he was coming very close to begging now, but if that was the case it was because he knew what was coming next.

"Why?" Kane offered quietly, dripping with menace. "Why should I tell you how to find him? Say you're right. Say I can't get him out while Prichard's monitoring my actions. So what? I leave him there. In case you haven't noticed, Ryan hasn't exactly fled for his life and he knows almost exactly what I've done to Sam. More clearly than you do at least. And he knows most of that was necessary because your brother is too stubborn to realise what's in his best interest. And after the stunt he pulled in return for me letting you live… this just saves me the time and effort of having to punish him. If I can't take him with me I can't take him with me, but I see absolutely no advantage in it for me to tell you where he is."

"You'd just let him die?" Dean wasn't speaking so much out of surprise and blind fury. That after all of this Kane would leave Sam hidden and alone to die just because he could. Just because it would bother Dean for him to do it. Again he wasn't aware of moving but he could suddenly feel Bobby's restraining arms encircling his shoulders. And at the look in Kane's eye he knew that he would do it. He would enjoy it, and there was suddenly not enough air in the world to stop his chest from constricting in on itself. If he wouldn't lead them to Sam there was absolutely no reason to let him live. No reason not to tear him limb from limb. While he might not be able to get close enough to physically touch him he was fairly certain he could at least put a bullet in him. Slow him down enough to be able to look him in the eye as the light left him.

He was panting like he'd just run a marathon and he knew there was no way Bobby would release him until he'd at least pretended to calm down. The other man was obviously under the impression something could be salvaged from this situation. But how? How could they possibly get Kane to help them? Make it worth his while…

"Wait…" strangled and barely audible, "what would it take?"

"Dean." Bobby had released him when he'd fallen slack beneath his grasp but his tone was warning.

"To get you to tell us. What would it take?"

Kane was smiling again now and tilting his head as though he were genuinely considering it.

"No Dean. We find another way."

"There is no other…"

"There's always another way. We know he's on Prichard's land somewhere; that narrows the search area considerably. We still have time to find him without resorting to something stupid."

"Like this?" Dean asked with his eyebrows raised, calmly raising his gun in front of him. But to everyone's surprise it wasn't Kane that he pointed it at.

"You wouldn't." Kane almost managed to sound as though he believed it.

"Yes he would." Ryan's voice was quiet, as though having a gun pointed at his head had finally brought home the situation he was in. He could read Dean's mind, but he could do nothing to dodge a bullet.

"You're not a murderer." Kane attempted.

"Aren't I? It's a matter of perspective. Maybe I can't touch you, maybe I can't throw anything that will hit you, but if I'm not walking away from this with what I came for then neither are you. You're going to slink away into the night with you're tail between you're legs leaving everything behind you. What's that going to do for your precious reputation? Wilber?"

"Sam wouldn't want you to…"

"Sam isn't here." His voice was deadly calm now. "That's kind of the point. And if I do this, odds are he'll never have to know."

"You wouldn't…" but at the sound of the hammer cocking he fell silent.

"What have I got to lose?"

They stared at each other for a long time, and Dean could tell that for perhaps the first time all night, he finally had Kane's attention. For perhaps the first time in their eventful history Kane was beginning to view him as an actually threat. Not an annoyance, a threat.

"Count of three Kane."

And the merchant's eyes instantly flickered to the young psychic, seeking confirmation that he could no-longer rely on his own instincts to acquire.

"Tell them."

"How do we know you're not lying?" Dean would leave Bobby here with a gun trained on the kid until he confirmed for himself Sam was where Kane said he was, but there was every chance Prichard would be too intrigued by their standoff to let the matter slide. And if Sam was valuable to Kane…

"He keeps his word." Ryan whispered. "Even Sam knows… Sam knows he keeps his word. Besides," there was a sad smile on his face now, "You'll know. When you see it," he indicated to Kane, who was writing something on a slip of paper, "you'll know."

Kane wordlessly, and with more vehemence than Dean would have thought possibly, held his hand at arms length and offered the paper to Dean. He didn't need to be psychic to know they shared the same thoughts. If Prichard arrived and saw what was going down, he would start asking questions as to Ryan's worth.

"Sam trusts your word" Dean said, eyeing the paper in Kane's hand, hating that fact if it was true. "So I want you to give me your word. It's over. You don't come for Sam again." He remembered his brother's sleep slurred words in that motel room all that time ago, and gave Kane the only thing he had left to offer. The same thing his brother had, that he had failed to honour. "You don't come after us, and we won't come after you." He was referring to himself and Sam. What any other hunter chose to do with their time was hardly under his control.

"I won't go after you or _Sam_" Kane said, and both he and Ryan were wearing smiles he couldn't account for now. "I'm not going to touch him again." Kane assured his wavering trigger finger, "But that doesn't man he can't still be useful. Now take it." He was back in control again now, and Dean was half afraid that if he didn't act now he would lose the opportunity.

A quick glance in Bobby's direction confirmed the other man had his weapon raised and aimed at their target, leaving Dean free to lower his own and finally take the scrap of paper from Kane's outstretched hand. None of them moved. It wasn't over until he had confirmed that he trusted Kane's answer.

With shaking fingers he fumbled the note open, heart painful in his chest. He had waited so long for this; a large part of him had believed he would never get here.

He stared down at the words on the page.

"Son of a bitch."

TBC

Don't hate me. That wasn't meant to be a cliff hanger. It just reads like one. This is just Dean recognising what Kane's answer means.


	18. Chapter 18

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters.

So, I had this whole speech planed and everything. About not feeling the need for an overly sappy reunion. The last story was blatantly always going to end with a massive chick-flick moment and pandas, but I never really thought that was what this story needed. Everything they needed to say has already been said at the end of the last one, and I think they've demonstrated that they already know how they each feel; having it said out loud seemed a bit redundant. And I thought they would be a little annoyed if they had to repeat themselves, because it would make them feel like they hadn't been believed the first time. So I was aiming for a 'silence says more than words' kind of a scene with gestures and looks doing the talking. Then I thought sod it.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sam had been locked away in the most amazingly peaceful dream. He knew he was dreaming, knew he was sleeping in his dream, but Dean was there with him and he felt warm and safe. It was half memory half dream, so he didn't understand at first when the sound of Dean's voice grew so solid around him that it nudged him awake.

He blinked sleepily and his vision swam, and he was already acknowledging that this wasn't going to last; it was too early to surface and he just wanted to sink back into the blissful blackness, when Dean's face hovered in his line of sight trying to bring itself into focus.

He smiled instinctively at the sight of it, but the more his eyes explored that face the more he knew it wasn't right. Dean was smiling but his eyes were bloodshot and moist. His face was pale and tired. Dean shifted forwards to meet him but his voice broke around his greeting and Sam knew that something had happened to upset him. Something he didn't want Sam to know because the wall of security he felt that Dean had erected around them was still intact.

"…'s happened… you 'k?" He whispered. He wanted to reach out, to take Dean's hand. To reassure himself Dean was really here and offer the same reassurance in return. It seemed important somehow, but his eyes were already sliding closed again.

He had thought Dean looked sad but the last thing he saw were those weary eyes light up with his smile, heard a short wet laugh that ended in something suspiciously like a sob. But it was a good sound.

"That's my Sammy."

It was so quiet he wasn't sure if he even heard it or if he was back in his dream, but he tried to murmur his agreement, and the hand he felt running through his hair was definitely real, the thumb that traced across his cheek. And he was already asleep but he subconsciously snuggled closer seeking out the warmth and love he knew was near.

000000000000000000

The next time Sam opened his eyes he seemed slightly more aware, but no more coherent. But he at least realised the sight of Dean in front of him was real; his eyes focused on him almost instantly, only it didn't bring with it reassurance.

Dean was struck powerless and dumb when the flicker of recognition in his brother's eyes flashed almost instantly to fear, and Sam didn't ask him if he was alright or where he was or even how he'd got here. Instead he asked Dean to leave. He was adamant Dean go, bordering on hysterical, and when Dean reached down to reassure him what little strength Sam had when into physically warding the effort away; physically convincing him he shouldn't be here and Dean couldn't fight him. Couldn't raise a hand to protect himself from Sam's tears or his blows, the last thing he'd ever expected to need to do. And Sam's distress was heartbreaking because he had no cure for it, no protection against it, no idea why he was reacting to Dean's presence as though it were wrong.

It took Bobby's intervention to reassure Sam of what Dean could not; what Dean had been too stunned to see was troubling him. It took Bobby to tell him that Kane wasn't coming back, that they were safe here, that he could calm down because there was no-one in the building but themselves and that was all there was going to be. Ever.

It was Bobby that told him this but Sam's eyes sought out Dean's for confirmation, and he must have found it because he sighed and sagged into the bedcovers. Dean could see the fear and the tension leach out of him as his body relaxed, and as it did so his own brain seemed to switch back on in time to see Sam's eyes slip closed again. He gave the once struggling hand he was still holding in his own for safekeeping a gentle squeeze, and was rewarded by a heart melting smile.

00000000000000000000000

The third time Sam opened his eyes Dean's were closed. He was hunched over in his chair and his head was buried in his arms, which were sprawled on the edge of Sam's bed, his body rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep. He looked more at peace than Sam had ever seen him. Dean might have been sleeping at the hospital, the last time they'd been together, but the quality that had been missing in him then had returned. That slight underlying line of tension; the way Sam could tell his brother's body was not fully relaxed. And that was Dean, more complete than when Sam had last seen him, and it made him both happy and sad because he knew what the cause of that difference in him was. It was himself.

Sam was the cause of that slight set of determination in Dean's jaw that was present even in sleep. And that realisation felt like coming home, but it also made him exorbitantly sad. Because he wasn't Dean without it. Not only did Sam take that truth for granted but Dean did too, and that was both beautiful and terrifying in equal measures. And he didn't want to have to confront it just yet. So he did the only thing he could to ensure he avoided it for a little while longer. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

000000000000000000000000

He knew that Dean was still near. He could feel his presence. Hear his firm solid voice. He swore he could smell that distinctive scent of home.

But someone was licking his ear and his entire body tensed. Dean and Bobby were the only ones in the cabin, they had sworn, and while he had missed them this was something else entirely and his eyes flicked open in alarm.

He could hear Dean and Bobby talking in the distance, sense his brother pacing the living room in agitation, which meant there was a third figure in the room, warm and on the bed behind him and licking every exposed piece of skin. He was seconds away from a breakdown into full-scale panic when a cold wet nose traced along his cheek and it made sense, and he tentatively rolled over to reach for it before it drowned him.

"…. but we don't know how many allies Kane can buy himself. He might not be able to come here himself but that doesn't mean he won't send someone to find Sam if we're stupid enough to still be here."

"Not gonna happen."

"I'm not doubting your ability to kill anything that even glances at this building funny, but we need to get…"

"I'm not moving him Bobby. I can't… God. He's not even conscious yet. We've no idea what that bastard did to him, but…" the pacing continued and Sam tried to follow it through the open door with his eyes but the effort was too much and he closed them again with a groan.

Dean's movements changed pace and he was at Sam's side almost instantly.

"Hey, you back with us?" Dean was doing that hovering in and out of focus thing again. "Sam?" He was looking worried, and while Sam wanted to reassure him that he was indeed still here he wasn't quite sure how to go about it, and he knew that was the fact that was worrying his brother.

With his eyes closed and the world no-longer spinning it was easier to give the necessary grunt of affirmation. His thoughts were still foggy but he knew he was awake now, knew that as appealing as not being was Dean had spent enough time searching for him, and he owed it to him to make the effort to span the final distance now Dean was here.

When his eyes flicked open again the room was more solid, the warm presence curled against him was grounding him. Dean was sitting again at his side, and while the smile that filled up his face at the sight of Sam finally looking back at him was un-containable, Sam would have given anything to have been able to erase the all too familiar underlying expression of worry and fear.

Bobby was hovering nervously in the background as though torn between not intruding and seeking his own reassurance that Sam was going to be okay, so Sam gave him a smile of greeting, but while his mouth moved making sound was still beyond him. But Bobby seemed to take from it what he was looking for, and after sharing a brief glance with Dean he slipped from the room.

Dean's eyes were resembling saucers now, and the grip he had on Sam's arm was tight, bordering on painful. Sam wasn't sure he even knew he was doing it but it told him what Dean was thinking more clearly than words ever could.

He had swallowed a few times and his throat was less dry. He thought about attempting speech again, but there was too much comfort in just lying here with Dean alive and next to him and threatening to never let go to want to risk spoiling it with words. The more awake he was becoming the more questions he was aware he had, but Dean had found him and he was here and for now that was enough. But Dean's gaze was becoming painful, and the pressure on his arm seemed to only increase with every passing second of silence, and he wasn't sure if Dean had actually breathed since he'd opened his eyes.

"You might want to try blinking once in a while." Sam advised him through his scratchy throat, marvelling at how rarely reality seemed to follow the patterns in his head. When he'd imagined this moment his first words had usually been along the lines of 'you found me' or 'thank God' or even 'well it's about darn time'. Asking Dean to moisten his eyeballs before he started to freak him out had really never occurred to him.

Dean just shook his head in a slightly manic way, but the slowly encroaching panic seemed to have been held at bay by the sound of Sam's voice and his smile was back in place, and Sam would have given testament under oath that the shine in Dean's eyes was a by-product of his staring and nothing more.

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise" He offered. If he didn't know better he would swear Dean was under the impression he was going to disappear during the time it took to blink; that Dean would lose him if he didn't have his eyes on him for even a second. He didn't like to point out just yet that he couldn't remember how to move, that he was still proud of speech, and that Dean's grip on his arm was going to ensure he couldn't get far. And was probably going to bruise.

He wasn't sure how it was the wrong thing to say. It got Dean to blink, and he instantly felt the loss of that eye contact, but when they reopened Dean's eyes were fixed on the orange bedspread between them and no-longer on Sam. And Dean suddenly looked incredibly young. Sam had thought this experience had aged him, but Dean looked suddenly like a child that was trying desperately to be strong, to find the right thinks to say, not liking that it was suddenly a struggle. He didn't want to joke or quip this moment away. He had done that a thousand times, but Sam's eyes were open and he would be judging and all the honest words he had been able to share while Sam had slept seemed suddenly terrifying.

The first look Dean had given him had been so open, but now he looked to be withdrawing and Sam could feel himself suddenly floundering in the distance he was putting between them. Dean was now avoiding eye contact as much as he could, and Sam suddenly knew that apology was on the tip of Dean's tongue. He had a look of defeat about him that really didn't tally with Sam's own feelings about this situation. But he also knew that Dean would never dare to say it. Dean knew that if he apologised it would leave it open for Sam to resolve him of blame- for his own part Sam had never assigned him any – and he didn't believe he deserved that. So Sam skipped the first stage and offered it anyway.

"This wasn't your fault." He found the right thing to say at last, "None of this…" his voice was hoarse and gave in and Sam could only hope that the fact he'd gone to the effort of saying it would go some way to convincing Dean that he meant it.

But Dean as ever reacted to the sound of Sam's voice rather than the words themselves, reaching over for a bottle of water on the nightstand which Sam accepted gratefully. Dean had to partially raise and support him so he could drink but it was a familiar gesture and he did it without question, and Sam just hoped that if Dean didn't believe his words then this display of physical need would do something to take away his feelings of worthlessness.

"You've got to stop doing this." Dean spoke up at last. He'd lowered Sam's head back to his pillow and was smoothing his hair away from his eyes, flinching his hand away almost guiltily when he realised he'd been caught.

"Well, I like to keep you on your toes." Sam was rewarded by a brief smile. Dean still didn't look convinced, but it was enough to let him believe that they could move past this, the only way they knew how.

"I'm serious. Because I don't think I…" he exhaled shakily. His hands had gone back to gripping Sam's arm again but it was much gentler this time, and while his eyes had left Sam's face again it was only to give him time to get himself back under control, and when he returned Sam's gaze he was much more stable. "I'm here now." he nodded to himself; he was the one that needed convincing, because he hadn't been there before, when he'd been needed. "I'm not going to lose you again."

Lose was not the word Sam would have chosen. Dean had not absentmindedly misplaced him, and he tried to explain as much but he was growing tired again and Dean just shook his head and quietened him. That hadn't been what he'd meant.

Dean sighed. Sam's eyes were drifting closed again. "Hey, stay awake. Just a little while okay?" He'd been waiting for hours; it was too reassuring to finally see those eyes open to want to allow them to shut again just yet. He'd been sleeping deeply, but while his pulse was weak it had been steady and they had so far opted to let him sleep it off. But having no idea why Sam was in this state, just that it was something Kane had induced, was nauseating. Sam seemed fairly coherent, but in order to know whether to let him nap Dean wanted to know _what_ he was sleeping off.

"Kane," he brought up softly, noting the way Sam flinched at the name, "what did he..?"

"Did you kill him?"

Dean shook his head and Sam scrunched his brow in confusion, unsure exactly how he felt about that. Kane was a human and Sam had relied on him heavily. A large part of him was relieved he wasn't dead, relieved that Dean had not been pushed into taking a human life. Yet another part hated himself for being able to feel that. To believe that Kane deserved mercy; and he was surprised that Dean had been able to show that restraint.

"He's not coming back. I promise."

Sam nodded. That had never been in question. Dean was here now; it had never crossed his mind that Kane might touch him again. Dean looked slightly disbelieving in the face of that trust, but he couldn't help smile at it all the same.

Sam was staring at him as though something had just occurred to him. Dean had lost him to Kane for so long, and Sam had been dangerously weak when they'd found him, drifting in and out of consciousness for the better part of a day. So the last thing he expected when Sam finally decided to stay with him was the smile of sudden recognition he was given right then. If he were Sam, he was fairly certain he would have found nothing to smile about. Especially given the fact the one who had supposedly rescued him had not only let his captor go free, something that would haunt Dean until the end of time, but was no doubt even now a tracking system he could only pray Kane would never use. Accurate to within the nearest three miles. He could only try and find some elusive comfort in last night's demonstration that Kane had not been lying about one thing – he had not been able to tell exactly where in his three mile radius Dean had been, even when he'd been standing behind him.

But Sam looked untroubled by such thoughts, and was observing him with a worryingly whimsical expression on his face. The kind that usually precluded some form of sentimental display. Normally Dean saw the warning signs and knew to retreat in time, but now he was more than willing to indulge. Sam kept his silence however, just reached over with a shaky limb and gave the arm that was grasping his an experimental poke.

"What?"

Sam flushed slightly with embarrassment and Dean took a moment just to take in the colour returning to his face before repeating the question.

"I just… nothing. But… you're live. Obviously. They made me leave… he wouldn't tell me, but… you're alive." The world was still spinning more than it had a right to but Dean had obviously been saved so he didn't care. It was a small price to pay.

Dean looked behind him to the now boarded up window, and he knew that had it been clear he would have had a direct view of the cabin opposite. The one he and Bobby had previously searched.

"You saw?"

"Heard. I heard the car," he clarified, "Then the ambulance," he added quietly, "But I couldn't reach you."

"You did reach me." Sam was the reason he was alive. Always.

But they'd been so close; Dean couldn't lose the feeling that he should have known. He should have been able to tell his brother was so near. Watching out for Sam had been his responsibility growing up. It was what he did. And Sam had been staring out of a window at him less than 20 feet away and he had not batted an eyelid. Not once looked in his brother's direction. Watching as Sam absently hugged the dog close to him once more Dean knew that if they'd had it with them that day, then it would not have made the same mistake. He had taken the dog with him on every trip except the one that mattered.

It was that knowledge, and the look on Kane and Ryan's faces when he read the address, which made Dean _know_ Kane was telling the truth. He felt it. The crushing weight of his own stupidity.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Finding me?" His voice was still weak so it was somehow more shocking to find it could also be harsh.

"What!? No!..."

"Then don't be stupid. And stop apologising."

"I haven't…"

"Not out loud. But it's all in the nostrils and the eyes." Sam murmured, allowing his own to slide closed again. "You're here, and I know you never stopped looking…"

"Oh no, you see… If I'm not allowed to feel guilty about this then you don't get to…" his voice caught at Sam's slight chuckle, and it didn't matter if it was tired or brief, he had believed for a long time that he would never hear it again. Even with Sam lying beside him in this room he had not believed he would hear it. That Sam when he found him could be so whole. But he had shed enough tears in this room. He didn't think he had any more in him.

"How you doing?" he asked at last, barely able to believe it had taken so long to get around to that point.

"You're here." Sam murmured sleepily as though that answered the question.

"I am." Dean agreed, "And you're not getting away from me that easily again. Bobby's not nearly as useful a wingman as you. He doesn't hold with the whole computer research thing you've got going on. He seems to actually require sleep to function, which is an inconvenience I'm not used to having to accommodate, and he actually eats all his own fries. It just wasn't working out."

"I knew you'd find some reason to miss me."

"One or two." Dean whispered. "No, come on. Look at me." Sam was threatening to drift off again. He only had to look at him to know Sam needed rest, but Dean had been without him for so long that he was unwilling to lose him again now. Even if it was only to sleep. He still didn't understand what Kane had done, if there was anything he could be doing to aid the healing process.

Sam obeyed a little too literally, staring at Dean fixedly as though waiting for him to do something interesting. Something to justify keeping him awake for. Dean sighed and relented feeling suddenly guilty. "Okay, you get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up." He whispered.

"Promise?"

"Promise. And if you humour me and sit up, there could even be hugging. A one time offer, is that enough incentive?"

"It's incentive for something…"

Bobby returned a short time later, and it was more out of curiosity at the clinking of tools than the new presence in the room that got Sam to open his eyes.

The two other men were staring at the chain around his foot, Bobby thoughtful, Dean with a frightening expression of blind fury it always unnerved Sam he could find such comfort in.

"Dean?" He could sense his brother's breathing hitch.

Dean shook his head, his jaw tense. "He left you chained to a friggin' bed," he ground out, and Sam could tell he was lamenting the decision to leave Kane alive.

"Dude, seriously. You really wanna go there?" Sam asked, and Dean blanched.

"That was different."

"Yeah, whatever." Sam smiled to let him know he wasn't really comparing Dean's actions to the merchant's.

"Did you get the key?" Bobby had acquired lock picking tools and Sam's subconscious rallied his remaining strength and moved his ankle out of the way, knowing there was no way this wasn't going to hurt.

"Who needs a key?" Bobby replied absently.

"Well, I'm fairly certain it's not an actual lock." Sam tried again, but Bobby caught his foot before he could attempt to move it any further away.

"We'll soon find out." Bobby assured him, setting to work.

"We just want to get you out of here," Dean attempted when Sam failed to look convinced, which elicited a small nod of permission.

Dean was glad it was Bobby working that lock. He could tell Sam was trying to be stoic but he couldn't help the occasional intake of breath when Bobby nudged the metal the wrong way, and even issued one small whimper that had Dean reaching convulsively for his hand again and even caused Bobby to falter.

But just when Bobby was convinced he had it his hand slipped in a dramatic fashion, and Sam sat bolt upright on the bed with a sudden yelp.

"It's not an actual lock." Bobby murmured apologetically. Sam was regretting having moved so fast. Was trying to decide whether his first instinct should be to throw up spectacularly or just pass out. From the way his heartbeat had suddenly gone incredibly loud in his ears and the encroaching darkness before his eyes he figured he was opting for the latter. Which was a relief. Not to Dean though, who had time to worriedly call out his name once before he sank back into the bed.

"Sorry." Bobby cringed, fully aware he now risked incurring the full overprotective Winchester wrath, but Dean just shook his head graciously and went back to attempting to rouse his brother. He'd known Sam was still a little out of it, but not knowing what was behind his weakness only that Kane had done it to him was terrifying.

"That's it, come on. I promise I'm not going to let him do that again." Dean cajoled, eyes widening in disbelief as Bobby emerged from his tool kit holding a hacksaw this time. From the look Dean threw him Bobby took the hint that he should perhaps wait until Sam was more stable before allowing him to see the massive blade anywhere near his foot.

"Hey, there you are." As usual Dean's own fear subsided on seeing his brother open his eyes, so for a moment he didn't quite understand the light of confusion, then panic, on Sam's face until he gave in to the first of his body's urges an rolled over to vomit spectacularly over the side of the bed. He was sure once upon a time a bucket had sat there. Now unfortunately that seemed to be where Dean had chosen to crouch while luring him awake.

Dean could tell there was a split second in which Sam felt better for having got that out of his system, then his two eyes widened and he stared at Dean in a kind of gob smacked horror. Bobby had faced off against any kind of unnatural evils but even he backed away from Dean with his mouth slightly open in disbelief.

"Sorry," Sam whispered, raising an arm to attempt to wipe Dean down before realising he'd really rather not touch him, then pulling his best innocent little brother expression as a defence mechanism in case Dean was mad.

23 days of uncertainty, 576 hours of living in hell, 34,560 minutes spent analysing and reanalysing every decision, every direction, hunting down even the smallest clue. 2,073,600 seconds without rest, since he had understood what it was to be relaxed. And 12 minutes awake Sam had managed to throw up on him. Definitely his little brother, if that had ever been in question. Dean's breath hitched slightly and he tried not to smell himself, thinking at least it had gone on the front of his shirt and not actually on him, when he noticed Sam's eyes were no longer horror struck but were filling with tears. His reaching hand was now covering his mouth and his body was starting to shake. Dean was just preparing himself for the full onset of waterworks, a delayed reaction of the kind he had been expecting since Sam had woke, but then it hit him.

"Wait… Are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry," Sam gasped, "I just… so not how this was supposed to go." He'd been lying here desperate to see Dean again for so long it was just his luck that he would throw up all over him when he actually got here. Not exactly the kind of reunion he'd been hoping for. "You got out of having to hug though" he pointed out before he could stop himself. He had enough senses left to be aware he was perhaps bordering on hysteria at this point but he couldn't help it. He'd had a shitty month and it seemed like such a typically Winchester way to end it, but he knew himself that if Dean didn't say something soon the humour would be gone and the paranoia that Dean was maybe now wishing he hadn't found him would start to kick in.

Dean was staring slightly incredulously, worried that Sam was perhaps finally hitting his emotional meltdown point. The front of his shirt was covered in sick and he reeked, but he was a big brother and Sam was a pain and this was hardly the first time, and he smiled despite himself. It was twisted, but it was perhaps the most comforting 'little brother' thing Sam could have done.

"It's okay." He assured him, "The car's outside. I'm going to get… I'll be right back."

"No!" Sam moved so fast Dean tried to dodge out of the way fearing another attack of nausea, but the hand encircling his wrist was like a vice and he couldn't move in any direction. Sam's eyes were wild, and for the first time Dean caught a glimpse of some of the horror locked deep within them. Aware that he was being stared at Sam tentatively let go, but he couldn't lower his hand, which kept making little darts as though it wanted to grab hold of Dean again, and the older brother knew it was only Sam's supreme effort of will that was holding it back. "I just… sorry… no, it's okay… I… it doesn't matter… no… it's alright." His eyes were darting frantically as though taking in the room for the first time, and Dean realised with a sudden pang that Sam's eyes had not left him the entire time he'd been here. They'd strayed to Bobby once or twice but he had refused to acknowledge his whereabouts. And Dean had just attempted to remove the one item of distraction he had in the room.

"God Sam." He breathed, cursing his own stupidity. He had let his own relief that Sam was alive and seemed remarkably unaffected to override his common sense that of course there was going to be some kind of aftermath to this whole experience.

He approached the bed again but Sam had pulled away and was instead hugging the dog close for protection, and Dean's heart broke a little because Sam was right – he was covered in sick and had escaped being the one to hug the pain away. He could no longer draw Sam close and tell him he wouldn't have to be alone again. Not that he could find the words. He wasn't sure words existed that fit situations like these. Perhaps the dog's warmth and reassuring presence were the best medicine for now.

"Sorry, it's okay. I'm okay," He reassured, hating that neither Dean nor Bobby believed him. It wasn't true, but that didn't mean he didn't want them to believe him. He had been trying hard to reacquire his independence from his brother. He wanted Dean to be free of it, but at the thought of Dean walking out of that door and leaving him here Sam couldn't breath.

"You should get clean…" it was only the steadying weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder that made him aware of the fact he was shaking. Dean was sitting on the side of the bed now, trying to maintain his vomit stained distance at the same time as staying close.

"I'll get your bag." Bobby whispered quietly, retreating from the room, and Sam couldn't meet his eye. Crumpled under that concerned gaze.

"Sorry." He repeated again once they were alone. The hand that wasn't holding the dog was gripping his hair, shielding his face from Dean's view, and as much as he wanted to reach over and remove it Dean knew there was a part of Sam that needed that wall there. And a part of him was afraid to touch the brother he had searched so long for in case he pushed him away.

"God I'm sorry."

"Hey."

"So sorry."

"Stop it."

A shaky sigh.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know. I know," he assured, firmer this time, "I do. I just…" he shook his head, rolling his eyes at his own ineloquence. But he couldn't explain it to himself let alone anyone else. He knew Dean wasn't going to leave him, he knew he was safe, but that just made the paralysing dread at the thought of being alone all the more annoying. And the concern and uncertainty in Dean's voice made him want to cry, as did the realisation that would only worry him more.

Bobby knocked before entering, brought Dean's bag all the way over to the bed so he wouldn't have to move to reach for it, then he retreated from the room once more.

Dean waited several moments for Sam to adjust to their being alone again before reaching over to open it.

"You should… shower or something." Sam offered, "Or at least wash… you're gonna smell." Which was true, but Dean could tell Sam was only saying it because he wanted to be able to bare it, not because he could.

Carefully stripping himself of his now crusty t-shirt Dean rummaged back in his bag again, then sprayed himself liberally with deodorant before putting on another. He really really wanted a shower, but he wanted to keep hold of Sam's returning calm more.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Sam shook his head and the room span again and he had to lie down, suddenly unaccountable weary. Again.

"Blood." He murmured, taking in Dean's slightly pinched look of concern at seeing Sam so broken.

"What?"

"That was… what he wanted. Blood. That's why…" he trailed off pointing half heartedly at his now prone form. Finishing sentences was suddenly overly taxing. He knew that was a truth he had never wanted Dean to know. But he looked to be so barely hanging on to his own control that Sam felt the need to give him something – not really a reassurance but at least an explanation behind his current state. He doubted knowing would make Dean feel better, but some level of understanding might lessen the anxiety of not knowing.

Dean nodded, but while he tried to hide the way his cheek twitched as Sam's words sunk in, tried not to let the realisation of what Sam was telling him, what he'd endured, what Dean had failed to prevent from reaching his eyes, Sam saw it all the same. But the hand gripping his shoulder instinctively gripped harder, and because of that Sam recognised the passing shadow in Dean's eyes for what it really was. Two parts failure one part guilt, drowned in an inexpressible wave of fury. And the expression was so unbelievably Dean that he did sob then, let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Because a large part of this had only been allowed to happen because of Sam's own insecurity that Dean would hear that fact, that Kane wanted his blood, understand what it meant, and flinch away not draw him closer. And the guilt that he could be the cause of the look on his brother's face without trusting enough that Dean would give it, was devastating.

"Sam…" nothing had ever qualified him to know what to say to that look of absolute misery he could see in his brother's eyes.

"Just get me out of here. Please." Sam whispered, suddenly unable to escape the feeling that everything would be okay; the walls would stop closing in, if he could get out of this room. Finally get off this bed. See the damn chains no-longer encircling his foot.

Dean eyed the chain nervously.

"I won't throw up on you again. I promise." Sam tried to smile but he didn't quite make it, but the fact he had been willing to give it a go meant something at this point.

Dean discretely retrieved his phone and gave Bobby a ring. Sam seemed to have got himself back under control but he would not be stupid enough to leave the bed and walk over to the door to call the other man back in. He would not leave his spot at Sam's side again, not for a long time. He had hoped it would be a long time before Sam looked at him again with that complete little brother need, but now he could only hope that he would see it again soon. That Sam would not be stupid and stubborn and think he should process this alone.

"I think we're more than ready to blow this joint." Dean informed him when Bobby peered tentatively around the door. There was a part of him that would feel more comfortable not moving Sam until he was stronger, he was awake now but Dean could tell that was out of his own conscious effort and nothing more. But he sensed that getting Sam out of this cabin and somewhere he might feel safe would be more healing than sleep.

Bobby had obviously had a rethink while he'd been out of the room, and instead of continuing with the hacksaw line of attack he this time fished out a hammer and chisel.

"I'm just gonna break the chain, get you out of here." Bobby told him, "We can see about getting this thing off your ankle when we're away from here, okay?"

Sam nodded. It wasn't really what he wanted to hear, but it was a start.

"Im gonna need you down here." Bobby looked apologetic at the thought of making him move, and Sam had to swallow down a sigh at his concern. Because Bobby had been nothing but solid and dependable and brisk in the past and Sam had needed that.

With Dean's help he was able to slide of the side of the bed and onto the floor. Dean positioned himself behind his brother on the pretence of wanting to avoid another attack if Sam's body objected to being upright, while in fact it allowed him to act as a prop for Sam to lean on when sitting got too much. And while Sam might have grumbled at him for being in the way Dean could feel how his body relaxed against him, and he had to fight the urge to rap Sam up in his arms and never let go. Because while Sam was allowed to be the younger brother that needed him, Dean was not allowed to be the older brother that could cling until his own fears and insecurities went away. Sam was too lost to deal with the prospect that Dean might be too, and as ever the sheer fact of that was enough to ensure that Dean got his own doubts under control. Not that he would ever admit to that ability, because while he was proud that he could do it Sam would not see it the same way.

It only took Bobby a few well placed knocks to get the thick chain to break, cutting it off as close to Sam's foot as he could go without pulling on it, aware that he was directly in the firing line this time.

"Thank you." His voice was quiet and betrayed some of his bemusement at actually being free. He had wanted Dean to get him out of here and now seemed to be awaiting instructions, trusting that they would get it done without him having to make the effort to think about it. He had done the same thing with his physiotherapy and training; Dean had to keep reminding himself that it was not a sign that Sam was disinterested in his surroundings, but was perhaps too interested to make them easily make sense. Cared too much to want to leave it up to his confused brain and chance.

"Do you think you can stand?" Dean asked, "The car is right outside the door."

Sam shrugged but he made the effort, and between the bed and Dean he managed to prop himself upright, Bobby hovering obviously wondering if he was needed or if any attempt to help would send Dean into a frenzy. "Head rush, I'll be okay." Sam assured him, leaning on Dean for support and so absolving Bobby of responsibility. But he was glad the other man was here. He had hoped that Dean would be able to ask for help, not because he didn't trust Dean to find him, but because he hadn't wanted Dean to go through the past few weeks alone. But he didn't envy Bobby the position he must have found himself in, grateful as he was. They would never be able to repay the other man for all he had done for them, and Sam knew him well enough to know Bobby would appreciate it if they didn't try. But he thought it should be acknowledged all the same. Later. When the world wasn't spinning so much and he wasn't trying not to be sick on his moderately cleaner brother.

Bobby had gone before them and the front door was open by the time they emerged from the bedroom, and Sam couldn't help the involuntary flinch at the sight of the world beyond. "Sorry," he murmured, feeling Dean instinctively drawing him nearer, cringing at his own inability to stop apologising, to stop associating tucked away and unseen with safe, but Kane had drummed that into him. It was the only reason he had been left here away from Kane's busier base.

Kane had obviously intended to come back here. Not only had he left Sam but other possessions were scattered around the living area. Kane was not an untidy person so the disarray spoke of how anxious he had been before departing. Not that Sam remembered much of anything between returning from the hospital and waking up to find Dean beside him earlier in the day. There was a huge part of the story he was missing there, but they would get to it in time. Now he just wanted to be away.

But he couldn't help the way his eyes scanned the room, taking in familiar items; the pot that had contained Dean's antidote, the equipment that Kane had used to drain his blood, and as much as Dean tried to keep him moving he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Sam, come on." Dean urged softly, before turning to follow his gaze.

His gentle tugs and words had no effect, it was feeling Dean's body tense that finally broke the spell, realising too late how much he wanted Dean to have not had to see that, to be aware that the residue, the marks on the cloth where Kane had wiped his hands while working, was Sam.

"What's gonna happen to all his stuff?" Sam questioned, his voice distracting Dean from the view.

"Bobby's gonna take care of it, don't worry about it." Dean assured him, "We're just gonna get out of here, okay."

Sam nodded, part of him wanting to ask what Bobby would do, another part not wanting to know.

Sam would never admit his feelings on laying eyes on the Impala, but if the sigh that escaped him was anything to go by he sensed Dean could probably guess them. Dean tried to manoeuvre him into the backseat but he held his own, using the car for support so he could duck away from his brother and shuffle over to the front seat.

"Sam…"

"I've been lying down for weeks." Sam assured him firmly, and while Dean knew if his blood levels were still low Sam would probably be better off lying down, the strength of Sam's objection, that he was voicing an opinion at all, meant more to him.

With a strangled howl at the thought of being left behind mini Dean scrambled into the passenger side too before Dean could close the door, and proceeded to try and re-acquire his position on the front seat, not seeming to realise he was no-longer small enough for the two of them to comfortably share it.

"Leave him." The sideways glance Sam was throwing at him to see how that suggestion was going down took Dean back three months, and he started to believe it might be possible to feel genuinely calm again.

"Okay, now I'm being crushed." Sam muttered as Dean was making his way around to the driver's seat.

"Hey, you wanted him there, you deal with it." Dean complained, but by the time he'd got the engine running brother and dog had somehow managed to arrange themselves into a compromise position where Sam could both hug and breathe. Dean did his best to throw down a momentary burst of jealousy at the dog's ability to yet again get Sam to smile and be more relaxed, but he had experienced its effects first hand over the past few weeks and for now his gratitude would outweigh his immaturity. The dog was something Sam could cling to without guilt, and for now he needed that.

Sam closed his eyes and let the familiar sound of the engine wash over him. He didn't want to have to think again, just exist in this moment with his two Dean's beside him and the car's vibrations soothing his weary body.

They drove in silence, Dean throwing concerned glances his brother's way every few seconds, unable to stay a grin at the simple fact Sam was sitting there to be stared at at all. Sam was literally melting into his seat but he looked peaceful, that same expression of warm contentment that had lined his featured on first waking, and Dean found himself beginning to relax for the first time since he'd threatened to leave. He had thought Sam had drifted off again, so his voce in the quiet car took him by surprise.

"Stop it."

"What?"

"Stop staring at me." But Dean just smiled because he could tell from his voice that Sam didn't want him to

"I'm gonna be okay." It was slightly more of a question than Dean would have liked. "I am." Firmer this time, "You just…" he had been going to request something along the lines of time and patience but he realised both were pretty much guaranteed, so he trailed off with a shake of his head, turning to stare back out the window. It was somehow comforting to watch the world passing by. It wasn't just the feeling of moving away, it was as though the car and Dean's presence were some kind of stasis bubble. He could see the world through the window but he didn't have to participate in it just yet. With the window slightly open and the breeze on his face and his thought processes slightly clearer he was beginning to feel embarrassed by his initial show of panic.

While the instinct to cling to Dean and never let go was still there, lurking beneath his other emotions, it was not too fierce that it couldn't be kept under some kind of control. He had seen Dean at the hospital before his walls of protection were back in place. And there was also that vague feeling of contamination that was still waiting to be processed. The one that had made him shy away from Dean's concern and his touch the last time they had been together. Something within him was wrong, and Dean was too pure to be exposed to that, whatever he might say to the contrary.

He wanted to not know what he knew, to undo everything that had been done. He wanted nothing more than to put this whole episode behind them, for both their sakes.

But as ever it was that discrepancy between what his brain knew and wanted and his gut reactions that needed monitoring. The reaction that caused him to tense as Dean slowed then stopped the car.

"Where are we?" He was realising now that he had not stopped to consider where he thought Dean was taking him. It hadn't mattered. But he realised now he didn't want to leave the car.

"Motel." Dean answered unnecessarily, sensing Sam's mood shift. "We just need to pack. Then we should wait for Bobby. He won't be long, but he'll know how to get that thing off your foot. Then we can go. Or stay. You should rest. Or…"

"Breathe" Sam instructed, resting a hand on Dean's arm to bring him out of his panicked self questioning. He wanted Dean to just drive and never stop but he knew his brother was right. They had to pack, they couldn't just take off and leave Bobby behind, and the weight of the manacle on his foot now it was upright was agony. He had spent apparently three weeks chained up having his blood stolen, endured five says of visions, and woken up to watch Dean carted off in an ambulance. He refused to have gone through that only to have the thought of sleeping in a locked motel room while Dean showered in the next room break him. He was better than that. Right?

Sam got out of the car by himself but rolling his eyes he signalled Dean over to lean on so he could make it inside. He was still feeling weak and he knew it would be a while before his ankle supported him. Dean helped him to his bed and got him settled, giving in and agreeing to a shower when Sam complained the smell of him was starting to give him a headache, and if he was forced to be that close to him for the next couple of days the least Dean could do was be clean. Dean didn't point out that if Sam hadn't been sick on him the shower would hardly be necessary; he was probably annoyed enough about that himself. But Dean got the impression it was important to him somehow that he prove he could cope the necessary five minutes alone. Not that Dean was at all sure that he could. But Sam was right; he was staring to smell bad. He would keep it brief, and hope to god that Bobby had the sense not to barge in unannounced while Dean was out of the room.

He waited until Dean was in the bathroom before encouraging the dog to scramble up next to him. The bathroom door was propped partially open and he could hear Dean singing, deliberately loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water, and he tried not to hear the waver in Dean's voice. They were both unsure what was expected of them, but they would get there.

Even so, it was no until Dean left the bathroom that Sam allowed himself to relax into the bed beneath him, to allow himself to close his eyes. He could hear the sound of his brother packing, knew that every pause in movement was accompanied by a glance in his direction. That would have to stop, but for the moment it made him feel safe. It was possible he heard Bobby return, the sound of quiet talking, but he didn't feel the need to open his eyes.

When he finally did the room was in darkness and he could hear nothing, but the fury body against him told him where he wasn't in time to prevent the panic from setting in. It wasn't as though he wasn't used by now to waking in strange new rooms, to be left alone with only his thoughts and the dark. But he had been resigned to that life; he hadn't believed in an alternative. He could not, would not, go back there.

Bobby was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room in the dark. Sam wasn't sure what he was doing but he shifted slightly, obviously sensing that Sam was awake, but he said nothing.

The bed he was facing was empty. There was no sign of Dean in the room, but there was a weight on the bed behind him that could be explained no other way. He wouldn't turn around to confirm it, he didn't need to. Dean _would not_ have left, and any movement he made would wake him. Dean had been in hospital the last time Sam had seen him. He probably wasn't the only one who could benefit from sleep.

He felt bad leaving Bobby feeling he needed to keep watch, but he was too relieved by the sight of him to tell him not to. He didn't think either of them thought the precaution actually necessary, but Sam felt better for it. Enough to close his eyes and drift back to sleep.

TBC

Hope that was enough for you. Like I said, I had no idea how to pitch this. Three weeks apart they needed some kind of reunion, but again with the Bobby being present and not wanting to negate any of the feelings they'd already imparted.

There's one more chapter to go though… and an epilogue (I got carried away).


	19. Chapter 19

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Chapter Nineteen**

The smell of coffee woke him. And food. Actual food. Heavily duty Dean approved sustenance. His stomach rumbled, echoing hollowly around the room, and he realised he couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten. Kane had force fed him orange juice before he'd left but apart from the water Dean had give him on waking he'd had nothing. Which was perhaps stupid but he'd been too tired to attempt it, and he honestly didn't think he'd have kept it down. But he was more than willing to make the effort now.

Dean had slept later than he'd intended – it turned out Sam's shoulder was an effective method of blocking out the disturbing early morning sunlight. Sam was still sleeping deeply and he couldn't claim he wasn't worried. Bobby assured him Sam had woken briefly during the night, but he had slept through all but 2 of the last 33 hours. So far both he and Bobby had avoided the word hospital, and he sensed that Sam craved their own brand of normality too much for him to want to suggest it, but if he didn't show signs of stirring or being more stable soon they would be left with little choice.

But as he sat watching Sam sleep, unable to tear his eyes away now he had his brother back within his sight, he could see some of the colour had leeched back into his pale skin. But three weeks had marked a definite change in him. Not only was he much paler than he had been, but much of the weight and muscle he had worked so hard to regain had left him. It had taken them months to get this far; Dean had absolutely no idea where they went from here, other than he would do whatever Sam wanted. That he would pray Sam woke up wanting anything at all.

So it was refreshingly typically Sam that while the sound of movement in the room, Bobby leaving and Dean talking did nothing to wake him, Sam stirred almost the instant Dean had removed the lid from his coffee and was now blinking at him expectantly. His priorities were also comforting. His stomach might have been announcing in no uncertain terms that food of some kind was definitely required, but Sam seemed much more concerned with stealing Dean's coffee; and if being seriously caffeine deprived was the first thing he chose to complain about then Dean couldn't help but grin and tell him now was as good a time to kick the habit for good as any.

"What happened?" He'd started off ravenous, but the urge to eat was waning so Sam fell back on the old standby technique of distracting Dean with conversation in the hope he wouldn't notice Sam was merely picking now. "You were still out of it when I left the hospital. Did you find that Ryan kid?"

"Yeah, and we followed him to the docks and Kane. He told you he'd arranged a meeting?" Dean wanted to understand how much freedom Sam had had. Kane had seemed willing to make Ryan an ally but Sam had obviously been a prisoner. It didn't seem like Kane to have shared information he hadn't had to. Especially given what Sam had done with it.

"_I_ told _him._" Sam answered, "At least, I vilified an idea that was already there."

"You faked a vision?" Dean was impressed.

"If it comes true, technically, is it a fake?" Sam replied innocently.

Dean smiled and shook his head.

"I didn't know what else to do." Sam admitted in a small voice, trying not to think back to the hours spent contemplating it. "Did you… how did you convince him to hand me over?" They had said Kane wasn't coming back. They hadn't snuck him out while the merchant's back was turned. "Did you threaten him with Prichard?"

"We went one better than that." Dean gloated, "Bobby actually called him. He turned up just as we were leaving."

"And he let you go?" He'd left the other merchant's name as an afterthought, an extra bargaining chip. He hadn't actually thought they would contact him.

Dean filled him in on the full story of their night since Dean had discharged himself, noting that Sam continued to nibble at his breakfast as he listened, more out of reflex than anything else, as though he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

"He traded me? Like a used car? He just handed me over?" Dean was sickened to see genuine hurt in Sam's eyes at the thought of being abandoned so easily, so suddenly.

"He didn't have much choice. Prichard would never have let him go back for you, and he had to humour me or he risked leaving with nothing." Why was he defending the merchant's actions? "Prichard followed Kane but he's not on his territory anymore. They can't touch him. We just failed to mention you when we left. Prichard has nothing against us, not really. We gave him what he wanted; it's not our fault he doesn't feel able to act on it. But I'd still feel better if we spent the day putting some distance between us."

"Kane can still track you." Sam pointed out, trying not to look excessively concerned.

"He claims he won't." Dean wasn't sure it was really a reassurance. As long as they were under Prichard's nose Kane knowing their whereabouts made no difference. "He seemed to think you'd accept that as enough assurance. Said he'd keep his word."

Sam nodded. He was surprised, but if Kane truly had believed he had no other choice he would have saved himself at the expense of everything else. If he'd been willing to let Sam go if he agreed to stop Bobby and his friends hunting him, then he would be willing to agree to this.

"He took Ryan?"

"They left together. Whether they stayed together…"

"They stayed together." Kane had given him up. He would not lose Ryan too.

Sam fell silent after he'd learnt everything he wanted to know. Dean had enough questions of his own to keep them occupied for the rest of the day but he held off asking them. He didn't think Sam was ready to answer them yet, and while they _would_ talk about it, he wouldn't push. Not until he had to. But he would not sit back and let Sam internalise everything again. Kane's parting words and smile were still haunting him too much for him to risk that.

It took Bobby a remarkable amount of time and effort to finally free Sam from his chains, and eyeing the vast array of tools that were used and discarded Sam felt slightly less of a failure that his pin and nails had failed to do what they could not.

Dean cleaned and bound his ankle, hissing in sympathy, but he had abused it so much himself that Sam was finding Dean's attentions less painful that was expected.

"Want us to swing by the hospital and steal you a crutch?" Dean offered.

"Why? I already have one."

Bobby grinned even as Dean scowled, knowing he would have preferred no other answer.

"Where are you gonna head from here?" Bobby asked. They were already packed; it was now just a matter of getting in the car and driving. Dean already knew the offer was open for them to head back with him, but neither of them would push it. The brother's would drift for a while until Sam decided what he wanted. Dean had not failed to notice the only time he'd been truly relaxed since they'd found him had been in the car. He had been averse to living in it in the past, but that was when Sam felt he aught to, not when he actually needed the comfort and familiarity and movement it might bring.

He wasn't surprised at Sam's choice to keep moving, but Dean did question his decision to let Bobby take the dog back with him.

"One Dean is more than enough." Sam assured him, knowing from the sheer fact Dean had offered to allow the ever expanding canine to live indefinitely in his baby that it was true. "We're gonna be dropping him back eventually, it's probably bit mean to keep confusing him like that." Sam relented, giving it a last hug goodbye.

"Thank you for taking care of him." Sam whispered pointedly as Bobby pulled him in for an uncharacteristic hug farewell. He'd been searching for the younger Winchester for three weeks; he couldn't say he liked to see them drive away after a day. But Sam was getting fidgety and he knew Dean was right in his decision to get them on the move before Sam began to dwell too heavily.

"Somebody's got to." Bobby complained good-naturedly.

"Tell me about it." Sam sighed, and at Bobby's laugh Dean spent the next ten minutes paranoidly trying to work out how he'd been insulted.

"You ready to go?" he asked at last, taking Sam's arm and helping him hobble to the car, reassured by the fact Sam supported the majority of his own weight this time around.

"More than ready." Sam assured him.

"Any preference as to where?"

"Non whatsoever."

"Well, do you want to..?"

"Just drive."

Dean nodded and pulled away, giving Bobby a final horn blow in farewell.

He couldn't claim he wasn't half expecting some calamity to befall them the second they crossed out of the city limits, as though Kane would have been waiting for them to leave Prichard's inadvertent blanket of protection, but they continued to churn away the miles unmolested.

He lasted that long before he shoved a tape in, because the kid had wanted normality and driving without music was in no way normal. Sam might have complained but he was trying to push down a smile so Dean knew he was complaining because it was expected not because he held any great objection. The music and the car were Dean, and Dean was safe, and Sam would have it no other way.

They stopped in a motel at night. Dean hadn't expected that either, but Sam couldn't drive with his ankle and Dean was near asleep at the wheel, and he got the impression Sam didn't think it was fair to make Dean sleep outside just to humour him, so they got a room and a take out and settled in for the night.

Sam had been mostly quiet during the day. They had talked, but it had been generic. Occasionally they had joked. It was comfortingly familiar, but they were both aware it was a smoke screen, a cover for the things that weren't said. Dean just drove, and threw the occasional glance at Sam whenever the silence grew too long.

Sam was still tired. He made it until almost two before he felt the need to doze. Dean doubted he had been at all active over the past few weeks, and jumping straight back into their routine was both comforting and exhausting. So Dean turned the volume down low and let the sound of the engine and the music lull him in and out of sleep.

When he was awake Sam spent more time than Dean would have liked staring out of the side window, head turned away from him, and while he couldn't see the expression for himself Dean knew his brother well enough to know he felt lost. And while he spent the majority of the day hugging himself for warmth, when he shivered at imaginary breezes Dean pretended not to see.

So it took him completely by surprise when Sam started to talk. Dean had turned on the TV to let it fill the silence, but without warning Sam sat up on his bed, turned to face Dean, and began to talk. Dean muted the TV but it was a while before his eyes left it. That slow turn to face his brother to fully take in his words seemed to take hours, but he was afraid that any sudden movement might spook him. Sam wasn't looking at him. Even after Dean had turned to face him Sam's eyes never lifted from the bedspread. His fingers never ceased exploring a hole in his sock, and while his voice was bordering on toneless it was surprisingly strong.

He started with watching Dean enter the cabin opposite with Bobby, offering his own account of the events that had been explained to him that morning. How he had convinced Kane to let him go to the hospital, making the antidote. All that Kane had told him about Ryan and his last hope effort to arrange some kind of meeting between them that Dean could follow them to. Kane had said Ryan had been easy to find on the basis of his name, so that was all he'd had time to give them. Dean said nothing. He asked no questions; just let Sam tell him what he needed to. At length Sam merely trailed off with a shrug and disappeared into the bathroom, no doubt to give Dean time to process what he'd been told. And when he emerged again he made absolutely no reference to the fact he'd said anything at all, just picked up the remote from where Dean had left it and turned the TV back on.

Dean wanted to respect Sam's obvious desire to not discuss it just yet, but his musing expression when talking about Ryan had not gone unnoticed. The things that Kane had told him about his own abilities. Dean couldn't say he didn't find Kane's story about the boy interesting, and it altered his original perceptions of the psychic somewhat. But he knew that wasn't what was troubling Sam about his story.

"Knowing what happened to him, the extremes he went to to try and salvage matters… It's not surprising how that power could corrupt. Make him more susceptible to Kane's words. But that doesn't mean you'll go down the same path. You're stronger than that. You _want_ to hold out, even when the demon or Kane are right in front of you offering alternatives…"

"I'm not stronger…" Sam whispered reluctantly getting drawn into the conversation, raising his eyes to look at Dean for the first time, stilling his objections, "I'm not alone…"

"And you're not gonna be." Dean could find nothing more to say to that. But there was one more thing he needed to ask. It had been eating him inside all day and as much as he wanted Sam to get around to it himself he wasn't sure they had the time.

"Kane said he wouldn't come after us. He wouldn't touch you. He said not _directly_. But that you could still be useful. What did he mean by that?"

Sam shrugged. He was tired and he wanted this conversation over now. "He said he wouldn't come after us." That was the part that mattered.

"Not _directly_." He didn't blame Sam for having selective hearing after what had happened, but they had no way of keeping tabs on the merchant, and attempting to do so would no doubt void their agreement, while Kane had told him Sam still had his uses. He could be following them even now and they would never know. "Please. I need to know."

Sam sighed and nodded. Dean would not worry any more knowing what he thought Kane meant than he was already. "My visions led him to Ryan. It's posible they'd lead him to others like Ryan. Like me. They made me useful... If he says he won't touch me he won't." Sam assured. He had said that before, but they would keep their side of the deal this time around.

"So what, every time you have a vision in future we have the added worry that he's gonna get there before us?"

"Makes life more interesting."

"How's he even gonna know..."

"I don't know. If he can keep track of where we are from afar maybe he'll keep track of why he thinks we're there. If he follows it won't be for us. He'll just get in the way. We could look into getting you a complete emotion transplant or something." Sam offered. "Maybe meditation. Or you could just try and hold off with the extremes of worry and rage."

"You could give me a reason to." Dean grouched. Although in truth he had right there. It was worth looking into.

Dean felt like he'd spent a lot of time in the past two days watching Sam sleep, and he'd been dead to the world, but whether it was because he was stronger now and had been wandering, or more accurately semi-dragged, in the fresh air, and had at least partially eaten three meals during the course of the day, or even because he had so recently dredged those memories back up, Sam's sleep that night was anything but peaceful.

He had his back to Dean, but the comforting way he had sprawled haphazardly across his bed was long gone. Instead Sam was curled in the tightest of balls, as though seeking protection and warmth even in sleep. It was only when he had been awake and observing him for some time that Dean realised the pattern of Sam's breathing indicated he was not asleep himself, and the line of his shoulder was far too tense to allow it. But Sam was doing his best to remain still and Dean knew he was listening. While Dean had been awake Sam had been able to relax and sleep, trusting that he was near. Dean might have been a light sleeper, might have been positioned between Sam and the door, but Sam had been weary and let his guard down in their motel room once. He would not make the same mistake again.

If Sam volunteering information was surprising what Dean did next was almost unprecedented, at least since he'd hit puberty. But for the first time since then he acted on the impulse as soon as he had it rather than delaying long enough for any thought process or self restraint to put a stop to it. And it was only when he was out of bed and perching himself on the edge of Sam's that it occurred to him this could potentially be less comforting and more something that would convince Sam that Dean was possessed on top of everything else. Neither of them said a word, but after a few minutes, during which he guessed Sam's tension was more out of surprise, Dean could feel him starting to relax. Sam needed to rest. He needed to let go of the anxiety he was holding, to allow himself to believe it was over. That moving on could be done without the risk of leaving himself open for another blow. Sam had spent so much time recently trying to move forwards, to get back to the point they were at before their false step in that alley. That tentative arrangement they were living with in the wake of their father's death. And while to some extent Sam being sleep deprived was a feature of their everyday lives, it was one they would do without if at all possible. He stayed until he was sure Sam was asleep before creeping back over to his own side of the room.

They moved on in the morning, stopping at random intervals in places that looked interesting, or more accurately places Dean thought looked boring but which he knew Sam would find interesting, so they could get some air and stretch their legs. Although he had to admit the three minute trek to a viewing platform overlooking the coast had been less than easy, but Sam was now strong enough to hobble unaided for the most part. It would do them both good not to be cooped up in the vehicle all day, and he wanted to casually express to Sam that they could be calm and safe and together just as easily in the outdoors as they could in the car.

That night Sam told him about his visions. What he'd seen, how he'd felt, the action Kane had taken to prevent them. To begin with he sat at the other side of the room to Dean on a chair in the corner, staring out of the window into the night, but before too long he did something he hadn't done the night before. He turned to Dean and he looked at him. He spoke to Dean's face, and he didn't shy away from Dean looking back.

He worked backwards from the visions in no particular order, saying things out loud as and when they came to him. From he way his mind drifted Dean got the impression that Sam had no linear recollection of what had happened to him, was perhaps even now trying to work it out in his own mind, memories he had probably avoided having to examine until now. He had already admitted that he had no concept of how much time had passed, how much time he'd actually been with Kane. Dean told him it was three weeks so he accepted it was three weeks, but Dean could have told him it was months and he would have believed it just as well. They'd moved, and through first drugs then blood starved exhaustion Sam had drifted. Each moment of waking was like a new beginning and he has no way of knowing whether it was hours or days that had past between the times he had opened his eyes.

Sam was trying to be clinical. He wanted Dean to know. Partly because he was tired of secrets, because he hadn't had an honest conversation in weeks, and partly because he wanted Dean to understand where he went when he was staring out of the car window, and how he was trying to find his way back from there. He hadn't been aware at the time most of this had been taking place; it was as though he was experiencing it for the first time through hindsight, realising just how painful some of his memories were. And he couldn't help the occasional waver in his voice, and Dean fought incredibly hard to match his neutral tones, because as much as Sam's words made him want to storm into a frenzy, Sam did not want to prolong this. He was trying to move on. To get these words out so maybe he wouldn't have to live with them anymore.

Kane was the trickiest of topics. Not the bland factual what he's done or said, which at one point had Dean fighting hard not to start hyperventilating and putting Sam off his thread entirely, but the why. The feelings the merchant evoked. Sam hated him. He in no uncertain terms despised the man and everything he had done, but Kane had helped him, had acted to limit his suffering, had mopped his brow and rubbed his back when he'd been sick. Kane had protected him. Sam could not articulate the discrepancy in any way that made sense. He was terrified of him, and yet he trusted him, loathed him and yet equated his presence with being safe. And he hated himself for having converted his dependence into an emotional attachment; one he didn't understand and couldn't seem to break. He hated that he could feel anything other than hatred; hated himself, hated Kane for his own inability to completely hate him; hated the pitying look Dean threw at him, the hurt he could not hide. Because Dean would try, but he would never truly understand the bond there had been between them. And maybe his perception of Sam would even have to shift a little to accommodate it.

Sam had started with the visions so Dean went back to them, explaining how he and Bobby had both acquired the information to track them down; kept the promise he had made and told Sam in no uncertain terms that these visions had saved his life. He worked his way back from there to recount some of the things they had looked into, some of the avenues they had tried to take to find him.

Sam had maintained his distance while talking, but listening to Dean he crept closer, sitting across from his brother once more on the other bed, and he could not keep the stoic mask in place. His face betrayed the guilt and the sorrow of having put them through that, but there was gratitude in his face too and Dean chose to focus on that. Although in truth he didn't want to see that either.

"Of course we kept going after that!" Dean issued harshly. That Sam could be grateful Dean had refused to give up implied that he had for even a split second entertained the possibility that he would do so.

"I know that."

"Then don't thank me." Dean didn't want to fight, but he wanted this known. Sam had trusted Kane's word. He needed to know he trusted Dean's too. "Jesus. Did you think I was just going to leave you there?"

"No." So simple and quiet that Dean blinked in confusion. Sam shook his head and smiled. Dean just didn't get it. "I'm grateful at you for being you. Not for the things you do that make you you. They're pretty much a given."

"Damn straight."

"Although you're allowed to be slightly less dependable at times."

"And you're allowed to not blame yourself for every bad thing that happens in the world, but at some point you just have to face up to the fact that some things will never change."

"I know they won't." Sam said honestly, suddenly not looking Dean in the eye. "And that thought kept me going. Through… everything."

"Sam…" Sam had known Dean would never give up, and because of that he had refused to give up too. That gave meaning to the hundreds of dead ends and wasted hours, beyond the physical search.

"Yeah. I knew I had to at least try and get free, leave some kind of clue, before you did something stupid."

Dean laughed and nodded. After enough time he no doubt would have. He knew what Sam was trying to say. That as much as he appreciated the lengths Dean would go to, it scared him too. Well Sam would just have to learn to live with that.

They only talked that way at night; Dean didn't even bother attempting to draw Sam into conversation during the daylight hours. Not about anything meaningful anyway. He got the sense Sam wanted to have those moments outside the car, not pollute his sanctuary with the verbal realisation of those memories. A random night in a random motel they would never see again made it easier to open up. And each morning when they set out once more Sam seemed a little more like himself, as though getting it out was really helping him claw his way back.

So Dean let him deal with things the way he chose to. As long as it was working he would not push or suggest an alternative. He wouldn't know how. He didn't know what Sam wanted. He got the impression Sam didn't really, either. He was needy at times, but he was only emotionally clingy. He wanted to know Dean was near; at time he craved contact just to prove that he was. Nothing obvious, but he would brush against him while they were walking more often than he used to, or allow Dean to help him hobble long distances he would previously have struggled over in silence.

But then it was though a switch had been pressed behind his eyes and he remembered what had been done, and just as he'd done in that motel all those weeks before, he closed down and shied away from any physical contact at all. And it was then Dean realised they had done wrong by not bringing the dog, because there were times when Sam seemed to need physical comfort but desperately didn't want Dean to have to touch him, like he had some highly contagious disease, no matter how Dean protested to the contrary. And so Dean found himself echoing Sam's strategy, accidentally on purpose bumping into him more often than was necessary, physically moving him out of the way instead of asking him to do it himself, even just prodding him for no apparent reason (other than to be annoying) when really he was trying to prove he could be close to Sam without sprouting arms out of his head or mutating in any other way.

He'd been working his way backwards so it was the third night before Sam got to the part Dean had most wanted to know. That split second event that had tortured him for so long. Only he didn't think Sam was going to go there without prompting. Wasn't sure he could piece it together himself in any logical way.

"The floor was wet." He prompted, but Sam merely looked confused. "I walked in and the floor was wet. The bath was still running. And I knew you were gone. That you'd been gone a while."

"I was in the bathroom when he came in. I heard the door. He was walking around. I thought it was you," he admitted. He'd though he was safe. "I walked out and he was just standing there. Said we had a problem. Then he didn't say anything for a very long time, he just kind of stood there taking everything in. Like he was waiting for me to solve it for him, only I didn't know what he expected me to do."

"How long was he there?" Sam had been kidnapped; it was irrational that after everything else he knew Kane to have done the thought of him hanging out, relaxing in their motel room, felt like a violation. Not only had Sam gone there for security, but it had given Dean peace of mind in a warped way too; not as the place Sam had been stolen from, but the last place he had definitely been.

"Sam shrugged. "Barely a minute."

Dean frowned but Sam didn't seem to notice the contradiction. "I didn't know why he was suddenly… But he was mad. Not really angry, more kind of… resigned. Annoyed that he was having to do this. I was wary, but I wasn't wary enough because… I didn't get what he was upset about."

Dean did.

"He'd said he wouldn't be coming back." Sam felt the need to justify himself here. How he could have failed to see it was going to end the way it had, how even when he'd walked out to find Kane standing in their room admiring the décor he'd still believed he could get Kane to walk away.

"The night I left to meet him?" There was still so much of those early days that Dean was yet to understand. Had always been confronted by the knowledge that if he'd maybe understood sooner he could have prevented the last few weeks.

Sam sighed, and from the look of concentration on his face Dean couldn't help but think it was as though he was trying to remember events that had happened a lifetime ago, like there was some cut off point in his mind of what he could easily or safely remember. Before he'd left that room with Kane and after. Straying past that line was like struggling to remember events from your childhood; trying to connect events you know to have happened with the recollections in your head. Or maybe it was just that moment of transition; bridging the gap between two lives. When for Dean, every second of this whole experience would forever remain painfully clear.

"He knocked on the door." Sam pulled a face as though the sheer idea of that was the most insane part of this whole thing. "Only I couldn't answer because you… with the cuffs and all…" he was smiling but Dean didn't think he would ever forgive himself for that, no matter what the intention behind it had been. Perhaps one of the reasons he was so desperate to know what had happened after he'd left was some kind of selfish vilification that it was nothing that Sam could have prevented if he'd simply had that extra hand free.

"He wasn't expecting that." Sam told him, "You actually took him slightly by surprise."

"And made his life easier no doubt." Dean gushed bitterly.

"He just came to talk." Sam assured him, but Dean glared doubtfully. Sam almost passed out trying to stand, and the last time they had been together he had not let Dean touch him. He knew they hadn't just talked.

"That's kind of how it started.

"I kept pestering Bobby." It was a confession that came slightly out of left field. "About Kane. Whenever things got too quiet or it seemed like they were going to stop looking. Every time… I pestered Bobby. And he pestered them so I'd get off his back. And they might not have found him but simply by looking they pestered Kane. He came to tell them to cut it out.

"I didn't know he would be able to follow us… actually I thought he must be able to otherwise he wouldn't have let me leave the cabin in the first place, if he didn't have a way of tracking me down, but I didn't know h…"

"He didn't let you leave. You escaped. When you…"

"Not so much." Sam admitted as Dean trailed off. "He wanted my blood Dean. And the alternative to letting me leave was keeping me in the room with a vampire. So he let me go. And giving me the device was the only way of assuring I would actually get out of there." Dean had believed he'd saved him. He'd not only lied, but he'd let Dean believe he'd saved him unaided. Always trying to be something he was not.

"So you did owe him."

Sam shrugged in an 'it's a matter of perspective' kind of a way. "And I paid up."

"That night?"

Sam nodded. "If I wasn't worried about Kane coming after me I wouldn't have kept people on his trail. And he really would have taken you back, whether he had a use for you yet or not. So we got it out of the way, and as long as I kept my mouth shut in future, and he was watching to ensure that I did, then when we got out of town he wouldn't follow."

"A one off thing? That's all he'd wanted?"

"Not really, but with you around it was all he could afford. I'm not saying I wanted to let him go, but I wanted to not be in the same town as him before bringing it up. I was going to tell you, but there was nothing you could have done for the time being. And I was afraid if you'd know…"

"I did anyway." Dean admitted.

"I know."

"I just… God. It had all been a game and I'd fallen for the whole thing, and I'd left you and I was so _sure_. I was so _sure_ you wouldn't be there when I walked through that door. And having the relief of that tempered…"

"I know."

"And I didn't know what he'd done, just that he'd been near you at all… and I was the one that left you there and... God Sam…"

"Dean. I know."

Dean had done the exact opposite of what Sam had asked him, and every thing that had happened after was a direct result of that. Dean had always known it, and that Sam could sit there, tired and broken and with such an expression of apology on his face, apology at having put Dean in the position that had caused him to do it. It was too much. He wanted to make Sam see that. That they'd both made some stupid choices but it was time to get past that. To let go of the belief that he had somehow deserved or encouraged what had happened, or he would never be able to move forward. He couldn't listen to Sam forgive him, forgive _Kane_, but refuse to forgive himself.

But Sam had drifted silent again and Dean knew that without his calm prompting Sam would never get this out; not because he still felt he had anything to hide but because his own thought process was so confused and jumbled that without Dean's grounding calm he would have to work doubly hard to figure it out. Or maybe he just understood the events he had been recounting, at least thought he did, while Kane's second appearance, forcing him to leave… Dean could see in his searching eyes that Sam didn't know how to make that make sense.

"I was in the trunk of his car." Sam offered and Dean nodded, remembering the picture Kane had left for him, that he had mercifully lost somewhere along the way. "He drove for hours. Absolute hours in the dark."

"He dumped his car about a hundred miles away." Dean corrected, but Sam shook his head.

"No. At least I wasn't awake for that part."

Whatever Kane had done to get Sam from standing in the room to waking in a car had left him unconscious for well over a hundred miles.

"He stopped. There was talking. It was dark when he opened it back up. He lent in and…"

"What?"

"I kicked him. I think I broke his nose."

Dean smiled slightly, was going to make a comment along the lines of the merchant having been asking for it, but Sam wasn't smiling. He didn't look guilty either, just tired. "It just pissed him off." And Dean knew Sam was wondering if with hindsight he would have done it, because it would no doubt have made his situation worse.

"What happened when you were in the room?"

"Huh."

"Before the car and the kicking."

Sam was watching him as though Dean were asking him to repeat himself. Or he didn't understand the question.

"What happened between walking out of the bathroom and waking up in the car?" From a young age Sam had been frighteningly sharp. Dean had to swallow down the lump in his throat at watching his brother's mind so muggy.

"Well I told him we'd call them off." He announced, as though that had been obvious. "He said they were still looking and I said we'd call Bobby back, get him to get everybody to back off." Dean and Kane both knew there was nothing that would have made Bobby push harder. "I told him we'd figure something out, if he gave us time." He was remembering the details of this conversation now. Kane had made him beg. They had both known that Kane had walked into that room with his mind made up and nothing Sam could have done or said would have changed it, but Kane had allowed him to beg anyway, and Sam had lowered himself to do it. Because Kane had been lenient once and allowed him to stay with Dean, had limited himself to only being able to make a small kick start to his business, but he would not be so lenient again. He would take what he still so firmly believed had been his. And perhaps for the first time, in that instant looking into Kane's eyes, Sam had fully understood that. Seen what it meant, for the both of them. And that picture had been so terrifying that Sam doubted there was anything he wouldn't have done to attempt to avoid it, no matter how futile it might be.

"So you tried to persuade him?"

"Yes." If Dean was imagining a business proposal or battle of logic of some kind then let him.

"And?"

"He didn't go for it."

Sam fell silent again. As though not realising he was yet to answer Dean's question. But he was being open and honest when it was clear how much it hurt to talk about it, so Dean couldn't bring himself to ask again. At least not directly.

"A lamp was broken."

"It wa…"

"The one by your bed." The one closest to the bathroom door.

Sam flinched.

"What happened?"

He was rubbing a spot on the back of his head absently, deep in thought.

"I don't… Dean. I don't know."

He felt like a monster for pushing, but this was the one thing Sam had not told him. He had not gone into details describing Kane's experiments, but Dean got the idea what had been done. Sam was not concealing anything he found too degrading to discuss. This was the last piece, the very first piece, and once it was out it would be over. If Sam kept this locked inside they would either have to prolong this for another night or he would never let it out. And Sam would never be free of it.

Sam had retreated slightly, bringing his feet back up on the bed, resting his elbows on his raised knees and his eyes on the palm of his hands so his entire body and face was concealed. Back into his nice cosy ball. But Dean didn't think he was huddled for protection against the question, and when he started speaking again he confirmed it. Sam was hiding in the dark to think, to draw out those last few memories because he knew Dean wanted him to. He was willing to confront this, and Dean knew it would not break him.

"I was standing in the doorway. He was pacing at the other side of the room. Getting impatient. Then I'm on the floor and my head hurts. I flinched… He looked at me and I flinched. I didn't move, but the next think I know I'm on the floor."

"And your head hurts."

"The draws by the bed are propping my neck up, so I'm guessing I hit it there?" And the impact knocked the lamp over. Dean winced remembering the hard wooden handles on those draws. Not that he was usually that observant about furniture, but he had memorised every empty inch of that room.

"Did you flinch or where you thrown?" Dean asked, remembering how Kane had sent Sam sailing away from him with a mere nod of his head that night back in the alley. Sam's eyes seemed to widen in understanding.

"I couldn't get up. Everything _hurt_ and that was just one thing too many and he didn't even walk towards me he was just there and…" Sam was looking at Dean again now; one hand rubbing his left arm subconsciously and he winced. "Then everything's black and the engines running."

"He drugged you." Dean stated. Sam's body remembered the pain in his arm even if his mind didn't. "Its how he got you out of some of the other rooms in the early stages; it's probably how he got you out of that one." And why you didn't wake up for over a hundred miles. "I think he parked round the back. Took you out the window to the car." Dean finished, standing and moving away to give Sam time to process that. It explained why there were limited signs of a struggle, why Sam had left no clue for him, even why Sam's memories were so foggy – they had no idea what kind of drug Kane would have favoured. Kane had speed and that flinging thing going on, and Sam had already been thrashed. It really would have been over too quickly.

"If you'd been there you wouldn't have stopped him." Sam offered, "You would have just been in the way." Sam would be gone and Dean would be dead and there would be no-one looking for either of them. And he'd been running a bath. That was all he'd wanted. He'd been tired and he'd been aching and his whole body had hurt because…

Sam's eyes widened in alarm.

"What?" Dean had been observing his pondering from across the room.

"What date is it?"

"Why do you..?"

"Tell me you dealt with the spirit." Sam almost pleaded, "Dean, what date is it?"

Shit. Dean looked at his watch but he didn't have to say anything. The look on his face confirmed it. "It's the 22nd" he whispered.

TBC

Believe it or not I'd decided not to be mean, but I'd been counting the days for that reason so I couldn't back out and change my mind at the last minute. After 100 years the spirit wouldn't hold off killing someone on schedule because I felt guilty prolonging the guilt. And they had to get back there… and I didn't want there to be a manic sense of urgency or any more violence… so mean for a reason.


	20. Epilogue

**Tipping the Scales**

**By Floralia**

I suppose this is not really and epilogue, more unfinished business, but it doesn't really fit with what's been happening over the past 9 chapters so I'm treating it like a tag.

Thanks to everyone who is reading this, and thanks to those who reviewed and renewed my confidence when I felt this was getting away from me. Massive thanks to Heather03nmg for humouring me, and educating me in the ways of American kids TV when what was supposed to be a throwaway comment got a little bit out of control.

**Epilogue**

It took them three days to make it back to the school. Dean hadn't wanted to go, at least not yet. He had spent too many hours pounding those streets, had viewed it from every camera angle and it had done nothing but mock him with its silence. The pain was still too raw to venture back there, and they had another seven years to finish the job. But it was all he could do to talk Sam out of setting off there and then, so first light saw them back on the road and there would be no more lazy stops and detours, no more convincing Sam they should picnic in the fresh air, because this time they had a destination in mind.

Sam had had the computer out before Dean had really come to terms with what had just happened; the sudden shift in the mood of the room. They both knew what he would find but for some reason Sam felt the need to confirm it. As if having a face and a name were going to make him sleep better that night. Sam seemed entranced by her photo, but Dean couldn't get his mind past her age. Fifteen.

Sam was under the impression they could finish the job unseen. Dean figured he didn't want to have to meet the gazes of all those people that had helped them, that they had told this would never happen again. Dean wasn't sure how he planned on doing that since the last he'd heard they were still corpse-less and cursed object free.

"I found it." Sam whispered, and Dean really wished he hadn't, wished like he'd never wished since he'd found out Sam wanted to leave for Stanford that his brother hadn't been that smart. That eager to learn. Because the guilt really was unavoidable now.

"It was in her bear. Alison's bear. She carried it everywhere with her when she was alive, and McAlister had it in his hands when he hung himself. They found it… they found it at his feet when they discovered the body."

"And they left it in the school?" Dean wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Remember the upstairs classroom… with all the toys?" Dean just nodded. "God, I was so close. I stood there and… it was daylight and the kids would have been in the room. If I'd just called you and told you then you could have… I should have just called you."

"You tried." Dean suddenly realised something. "You had your phone in your hand when the spirit attacked. Was that..?"

"I was debating. I didn't know whether to wait until you got back… if I'd just…"

"Sam. You were gone, okay." And damn if just saying it didn't make that moment all the more horribly real. Like Sam sitting before him tired and drained wasn't enough of a reminder of that. "I walked in that motel room and you were gone. If you had somehow got a message to me before I got back I can't guarantee that it would have made any difference. Because you weren't there, and nothing else mattered outside of that fact." In all honesty Dean had not once stopped to consider McAlister since this whole nightmare had begun. Sam's absence had wiped any other fact from his mind.

If Dean had been aiming to lessen Sam's guilt it didn't work. Dean could tell a lot of Sam's focus was not on what had been done to himself, he didn't want to have to think about that, but on the effect that had on those around him. Especially on Dean. He was telling Dean what had happened less to ease his own demons, but because the full story might ease Dean's. And this was just one more consequence of that. A casualty of Dean's devotion to him.

The bear had been in the school for the last 100 years, he doubted it was going anywhere, and with this new death the cycle for this year was complete. As long as they salted and burnt it before November 2014 they would avoid another death. May and they would prevent any further attacks. There was still too much he felt they needed to deal with here before they turned their attentions to anything else.

He wanted to deal and move on, not give Sam any excuse to sweep what had happened aside; he was still shaky, he could barely walk, and his current appetite combined with the amount of body mass he had lost was not conductive to their recovery. But it was muscle and not weight that had left him. Dean hated to admit it but he couldn't deny Kane had monitored his brother's health. Sam's ankle was sprained because he'd tried to escape, but Kane had tended to the damage he'd inflicted and the wounds were clean. And he couldn't help but wonder with a pang what Kane had said to be able to get Sam to eat when Dean could not. Not that Sam didn't eat, but it was entirely on his own terms, if and when he felt like it. Dean wondered at times if anything he said made any difference to Sam's desires at all.

"Dean please." He'd been unsure at one point if Sam would show interest in anything that wasn't pointed out to him, so he couldn't ignore the beseeching look on his face. And he couldn't deny that Sam had always shown a much higher degree of interest in this case than he had. Even when they'd both known Kane was in town, even after the merchant had visited him that night, Sam had been determined to see it through.

"There might be someone else in the area, or any time anyone passes through in the future…" Dean attempted. He was surprised that Sam felt able to return there knowing what had happened the last time.

"No, can we just…" he sighed. He had admitted to more confusing thoughts than this over the last couple of nights, he didn't understand why this one should be so hard. "I just, I need to know I can do this, okay. It was our first hunt. That salt and burn didn't count, and…"

"I told you you had nothing to prove…"

"I wasn't trying to prove anything to you. But _I_ needed to know. It's just… everything was getting out of hand and it just seemed important somehow to do this. I needed to know everything wasn't always going to be about what happened that night. About the accident or Kane. It had been the focus of everything for so long I just… I can't have that be the reason we don't go back. You get that right? It's not just me being crazy?"

"Well I wouldn't go that far." But Dean got it. He didn't want to go, but Sam was right. He didn't want Kane to be the reason they didn't. He wanted to believe it was over. He wanted Sam to believe it was over. And perhaps Sam was right about that too. It wasn't about throwing themselves back into their usual routine as a way of repressing what had happened, but as a way of showing themselves that they could still do it. That this didn't have to define them or how they approached everything from this point on.

But they would not leave until morning, and since it made no difference to the spirit whether they did this within the next week or the next year, they would not rush into it to the determent of other things. So it took them three days to get back.

The first day was a nightmare because Sam was antsy and despondent, and Dean marvelled at his ability to both fidget and sit unnaturally still, clearly alternating between the need to break out and do something and lamenting the fact that he hadn't done it already.

By the second day he'd calmed down, or maybe just absorbed the guilt of this death where it could fester with the rest of the guilt he carried around. But for whatever reason it was no-longer manifesting itself physically.

With only one of them fit to drive they needed to break regularly and stop over night, and they seemed to slip without question into their old routine. Sam seemed determined not to let Kane's influence have any lingering effect, and maybe having talked events through with Dean this time instead of keeping them in had lightened the burden somehow. That and the fact they now had something pro-active to work towards. He could prove he could do something right. So Dean didn't need to raise the issue himself, and he didn't comment on it when Sam woke that second day wanting to go for breakfast – he wasn't sure how long it would take before either of them was willing to make a solo run to fetch it.

Dean could tell that he was warring with his instincts, that he didn't really want the food just wanted to want it. Wanted to not have to need it, to be back to that stage where he didn't have to monitor what he ate; or carry out his exercise routine, the majority of which would still have to wait a little longer. Sam was right about another thing; Dean could barely remember a time when they didn't have to do it, but in a weird way it gave their days structure.

The third day was remarkably relaxing given the circumstances. They had pushed over the past two days to cover the distance, so some creative timekeeping was required to ensure they didn't arrive in town before dark. He was aware of the need to go back, but Dean would not spend more time there than was necessary. The idea of killing time milling around those too familiar streets waiting until it was safe to do a little breaking and entering didn't bear contemplating.

Six days away from Kane and Sam was less notable in his hovering. That didn't mean Dean was going to let him out of his sight any time soon, not that Sam had cottoned on to this fact yet. Because while Dean might have been able to keep Sam safely in the corner of his vision the entire time he was collecting supplied in the giant superstore he selected as a time consuming aid, Sam looked up after having been engrossed in the book department for close to half an hour to realise Dean was no longer within reaching out and grasping distance, and was close to a full scale panic attack before he caught sight of Dean waving madly at him from the checkouts.

He might still have been limping slightly but he covered the distance to Dean's side with impressive speed, and hung close for the remainder of the trip. Dean had been torn between letting Sam know he was moving on or monitoring him from afar, but Sam had been pottering happily through the books and he hadn't wanted to disturb him. While his attention had been focused on something so Sam he hadn't wanted to draw it back to the reason he no longer liked the idea of being alone. To point out that for their first time in almost a week Sam hadn't noticed that he was. It wasn't that he minded Sam hanging close, it made his own need easier to achieve, but he wanted Sam to feel safe enough with him not to need it. The last time around his dependence on Dean had been the extension of a physical need, and while it had manifested itself emotionally at times knowing where it came from and how to fix it had made it easier to cope with. While building up his physique would be necessary and therapeutic, time and experience would be the only cure this time around.

They pulled into town long after night had fallen. The drive to the right place was automatic; Dean had memorised the entire layout of this place and it would be a long time before he would be able to forget it. They parked a safe distance and carefully made their way over to the building.

"What's with the bag?" Sam questioned. Dean was ducking in and out of shadows in a way he could not keep up with as long as he had the limp, but he was leaning against the wall to help him move so Sam figured that would have to do.

"Supplies." Dean replied evasively.

"For..?" They were breaking in to get the bear out; they would not be burning it in the school. Sam could understand the need for a bag, which was why he was carrying one – he was not keen on the idea of carrying the bear in his arms either – but he couldn't understand why Dean's bag was so full and lumpy.

Dean stood guard while Sam pried open a window and they slipped inside. Sam exhaled quietly beside him.

"Can you still feel it?" he asked.

"No." He smiled ruefully that they had both let their relief at that fact show.

The classroom was easily enough to find, and even though he was sure it was true Sam couldn't make the bear look evil. Decrepit and worn yes, but not the key behind so many deaths. It sat innocently on the shelf, head resting on the shoulder of the same neon clown toy.

Dean was obviously thinking along the same lines if the fact he asked twice if Sam was sure it was the right one was anything to go by. But he finally lifted it tentatively from the shelf and dropped it into the bag Sam was holding ready to receive it.

"You wanna burn this too?" Dean asked cheerily, holding the clown doll out in Sam's face, matching its insane expression.

Dean had to admit he looked tempted, so he gave it another little waggle just to be sure.

"Well… they are kept right alone side each other. Who knows what kind of transference might have taken place over the years…" Sam mused reasonably, holding the bag back open for Dean to lob it in.

"What about the doll?" Dean asked, indicating to the porcelain creature that had sat at the bears other side this time.

"What about it?" Sam asked absently, already fastening the bag back up again.

"You don't think it might be tainted too?" Dean smiled.

"No, I think it's good." Sam responded innocently, avoiding his brother's eye, but Dean was already striding away from him and examining the remaining toys on the shelf.

"Oh no way." He exclaimed in disgust, drawing a stuffed dog off the shelf and regarding it with more venom than he had the cursed bear. "Get the bag open."

"What?" Sam asked, mildly alarmed by the sudden seriousness of his brother's expression.

"Dollar. Richie Rich. Ringing any bells? Seriously. As if this has any place in a school. If anything needs to burn it…"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Richie Rich." Dean was staring at Sam as though he was insane now. "Prissy little rich kid. Flashing his money around. Buying his way into solving crime. What kind of message is that to give kids? All you need to be a hero is a big wad of cash and a…"

Sam had started to laugh but broke off at the serious expression on Dean's face. "For god's sake it's a toy Dean. Put it back." He said dismissively, but Dean continued to hold the dog at arms length waiting for Sam to take it.

"Dean. We can't just… okay, fine." He broke off as the bag was snatched from his hand and the toy shoved unceremoniously inside it. "It's just a…"

"We're not allowed to burn something that encourages children that money is the key to success and happiness, but it's okay to burn a clown on the basis that you're a wuss?

"Fine then, leave the…"

"No. They're coming with us."

"You're kinda frightening when you're like this, you know that right?" Sam responded.

But Dean wasn't listening. Instead he seemed to be having a bad reaction to the sight of a Thunderbird 2 model and was adding it to the bag, fixing Sam with a glare that was just daring him to try and stop him.

"What can you possibly have against Captain Planet?" Sam asked incredulously as Dean went in to claim another victim, "I used to love that guy."

"Exactly." Dean commented darkly, "If you had a little brother that was obsessed with littering and made you play at cleaning up the environment for two hours straight you'd be burning him too. That guys got a lot to answer for."

"I was just trying to teach you to be environmentally aware, that's all." Sam uttered in a long suffering voice.

Dean was standing back now, admiring his handy work.

"You happy now?" Sam asked tentatively, "You think maybe we could go before…"

"Go? We can't just go!" But Dean was smiling at him now and striding over to the bag he had carted in with him. "We can't just sneak in in the middle of the night and steal toys from children. What kind of monster are you?"

"What! I wasn't the one that just…" he fell silent as a Judge Dredd action figure emerged from the bag in Dean's hands. "Seriously!"

"Yeah. Why not. That lawgiver, man. And a motorbike with mounted side cannons? It's the perfect choice. What's not to love?" he replied, settling Dredd in pride of place at the centre of the shelf.

Dredd was followed by a replacement bear with a bright red bow, a particularly cowardly looking Scooby Doo and, Sam shook his head in bemusement, Airhostess Barbie.

"Richie Rich we feel sets a bad example, but you've got nothing against Airhostess Barbie."

"World needs those airhostesses." Dean answered with a grin.

"You don't even like to fly!"

"I'm sure they must have other… qualities I can appreciate."

"We're in a preschool Dean… that's just wrong."

"Oh lighten up Dr Feelgood" Dean griped good-naturedly, shoving an incredibly hairy squidgy mass – Sam assumed it was supposed to be in the form of a dog – into Sam's arms and striding away to position Barbie where she could best admire Action Man's abs.

Sam just smiled at Dean's enthusiasm as he carried on admiring his handiwork like a demented Father Christmas. It had honestly never occurred to him to replace the bear they would be burning, when it had clearly been loved.

"I can't believe you did this." Sam said watching him, part of him not believing it hadn't occurred to him that Dean would go to these lengths. "When did you even find the time to get all these?"

"I got them today, during that time warp when you had your head in a book. I was only gonna replace the bear, but there was a sale on and… maybe I got a bit carried away." He examined his hoard slightly guiltily.

"You think!?"

"Well… they were gonna come in in the morning and…"

"Oh, you're bad to the bone." Sam whispered, smiling to himself at Dean's obvious enthusiasm, but as he reached to place his dog on the shelf Dean's expression changed to one of hurt.

"Hey. What are you doing? That one was for you." He said, looking affronted.

"You're way too cheerful." Sam shook his head, taking the dog back before it was flung at him. "Does the prospect of burning something always have this effect on you? Because perhaps that money would have been better spent on therapy…" he trailed off examining the dog in his hands. It would easily have been the size of a small child, and he doubted it would have fit on the toy shelf, but he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with it.

"Belated birthday present." Dean muttered, avoiding his eyes. "Think of it as a substitute for…" he shrugged, "you know."

Sam just watched him finish off, shaking his head, not even realising that he was subconsciously hugging his new toy tight to his chest, face buried in its fur, until Dean's smirking pointed it out to him. But it was the easiest way to hold it so he ignored his brother and hobbled out of the room. Dean had been the one to fill it – he could take the bag.

They made it back downstairs and out of the window without incident, but one step away from the building and Sam had to throw himself back against the wall to avoid a set of sweeping headlights.

"This way." Dean whispered, taking his arm and leading around to the back of the building away from the sound of slamming car doors. He maintained his hold on Sam's arm as he rushed them across the school yard to the railings at the side of the property, wincing as Sam cursed and hopped, but they needed to keep up the pace to get back to the shadows before whoever had just arrived had time to turn the corner.

"Okay?" he asked as they lent against the railings to get their breaths back.

"Yeah, but we should keep moving." Sam replied, eyeing the fence with trepidation.

Dean threw the bag over and easily managed to scramble up after it, shifting to be careful not to impale himself on the spikes on the top of the railings, dropping safely to the other side.

Sam let out a long suffering sigh in anticipation of the pain, tucked his cuddly toy under his arm, and scrambled up after his brother. It was easier getting up than he'd expected, but on the slide over he was thrown slightly off balance and dropping to the ground he instinctively landed on his bad ankle.

He managed to stop himself crying out, barely, but his leg immediately gave way and he went down hard, or at least, he'd expected to. Dean had seen his brother falter and had instinctively reached for him, so when Sam opened his eyes it was to discover he was not face down in the grass like he'd expected, but instead his weight was being fully supported for him, and his cheek was pressed tightly against his brother's chest.

It took a moment to acclimatise to this new position, but apparently it was a moment too long.

"You wanna help me out here?" Dean grunted, trying valiantly to keep them both upright while Sam contemplated what had just happened.

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Thanks for that." He had just managed to get his good foot back on the floor and was in the process of retaking his own weight when a bright light was shone in his eyes and he instinctively buried his head back in Dean's chest to avoid it.

"Principle Wilson." Sam was suddenly hurled upright at an alarming speed. "Good to see you again.

"Mr er… Dean wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes. And you remember my… er.. brother..." Dean would have given anything for Sam not to have been still blinking in confusion and holding up a giant stuffed toy as though it offered some kind of protection from the light.

"What are you...?"

"Just out for a stroll." Dean said airily, collecting Sam by the arm again and attempting to whisk him away before he could open his mouth and make conversation. "Nice town. Great school. Still thinking about it." he called over his shoulder as he steered Sam away, spinning him forcibly back round again when he attempted to turn and offer his own explanation.

"Well, that's just great." Dean muttered darkly, throwing his bag of evil toys heavily into the back of the Impala and slamming the door shut behind it.

"Sorry." Sam offered, settling in the passenger seat with his new dog on his knee, then thinking better of it – not quite sure how annoyed Dean was – he discretely leaned over and placed it in the back seat too.

"You okay?" Dean threw out, as though suddenly remembering what he had been going to ask before the Principle had interrupted them.

"Yeah, it's getting better. Just took me by surprise a little bit, that's all."

"What do you think he was doing, prowling around so late at night anyway?"

"I don't know. He said security was tighter after the attack. Maybe we're not as stealthy as we think." Sam shrugged. They had left the town behind them; they didn't need to worry about that now.

Dean waited until they were a considerable distance away before pulling the car off the road. The area was deserted; they had passed no other traffic all night and no lights could be seen in the distance, just miles of endless boring scrubland. The perfect place for a bonfire.

They set too in silence, the familiar rhythm of what needed to be done, Sam retrieving the bag from the car while Dean collected a shovel, salt and gas from the trunk. Dean led the way to a suitable looking patch, not to far away from the car because Sam was limping more noticeably now after his near fall, not that he would say anything about it, but far enough away that they might be slightly concealed from anyone passing on the road and not looking too closely.

Dean dug a small hole ready to retrieve their offerings, bitching that Sam had wounded his ankle just in time to avoid further digging.

"Well, if you hadn't got so carried away you wouldn't need to dig such a big hole." Sam pointed out diplomatically, opening up the bag and pouring its contents unceremoniously into the pit Dean had dug. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, part of a cape showing from under Dollar's ear, the oversized clown's head leering up at them from its position sprawled across the cursed bear's stomach. "Well that's just creepy." Sam commented, sprinkling salt over their mass grave.

"You wanna do the honours?" Dean asked, holding out a book of stolen motel matches.

"Oh please, you've been looking forwards to this all day. Just light her up."

The fire was quick to take hold, and the fresh night air was soon overcome by the scent of burning foam and plastic. Coughing they instinctively took a step back. He had wanted to return to their routine, but Sam couldn't say he hadn't missed the usual assortment of funky smells that followed them through life. Even so they stayed until the fire had burned itself out; checking to make sure the bear had been thoroughly destroyed even if the wing of Thunderbird 2 was protruding from the rubble.

"You think that's really it?" Sam asked as they filled the hole back in, burying the charred remains.

"It seems likely. But there's no way of knowing for sure. Not unless we come back in seven years and see if the attacks have started up again."

Sam nodded wearily. Neither of them wanted to come back here.

Dean stretched with a groan, throwing the shovel over his shoulder and striding away from the burial site. Sam retrieved the discarded bag and gas can and scampered after. He couldn't explain why, but he felt strangely lighter for having got that done. They hadn't been able to save that girl, and Sam would avoid looking to see how many other attacks had occurred between that last one and his own, but they could be reasonably confident there would not be another. The pay off for their actions might be seven years in the future, but they would come, and that counted for everything.

Dean was already waiting in the car by the time he'd closed up the trunk, and his dog had somehow made it back onto the front seat.

"You want to call it a night? Find somewhere to turn in?" he asked, settling himself down under the soft toy as the engine roared to life.

"No, I'm good to drive a while longer if you are." Dean replied, and he really did look wide awake, as though the act of theft and vandalism had perked him up somewhat.

"Sure," Sam smiled, snuggling down for the ride. He turned the dog over in his arms to look at it, not quite able to account for it but the simple act of being able to cling to anything at all, especially something that was warm and soft but not living, something he couldn't taint… He might be 24 but it was more comforting than it should have been.

"Thank you." He murmured, catching Dean in that brief moment of silence before he turned the music on. "For…" he indicated to the dog but they both knew he was meaning the thing it represented. Dean's willingness to help Sam deal, to be there for him in whatever form Sam needed, whenever he needed, for however long.

"Yeah, just try not to let this one moult all over my seats okay."

Sam nodded, trying to stifle a yawn.

"You gonna sleep?" Dean questioned, hand pausing on its way to the radio.

"I can sleep with it on." Sam assured him. "Wake me if you get bored. Or if you want to stop."

Dean nodded, but knew he would never wake him. It was a long time since they had driven through the night but he was highly caffeinated and the road was empty before him, and he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, basking in the familiar rumble of home that surrounded him. He had classic rock screaming out of the speakers, the open road, and he was surrounded by the scent and sound of home. And most importantly he had Sam in the passenger seat. Safe and alive and looking impossibly young under his too long hair with his soft toy pulled close for warmth.

The smell of dirt and smoke still clung loosely to his clothes; the familiar sign of a job well done. Their first one in six months that they had found, worked and solved alone. And Sam was right; it was a good feeling. And Kane had not taken that away from them.

They still had a way to go. He couldn't claim his paranoid hovering hadn't been recurring of late, and Sam once again had weight and strength to regain, but it was treading a familiar path. The route had already been painstakingly cleared. The time and effort had been put in once, now all they had to do was follow their own breadcrumb trail once more. They already knew the destination was achievable. They had both taken a battering, but if there was one thing the past months had taught him it was his brother had a strong will to survive. Yes Kane was still out there, and it was possible they were yet to see the last of him, but Sam assured him he no-longer posed the threat he once had. And he wouldn't lie this time.

Kane had stolen Sam's sense of security. Warped the idea of what safety meant by adding himself to that equation. Sam was mending but Dean didn't doubt he still felt lost. But if what Sam had said that night was true, that his sense of safety was Dean, was knowing that Dean would never not be there, never not strive to help, never rest while Sam was left floundering in the dark… If all it took for Sam to regain his calm was Dean's presence in the next seat, the next bed, the same room, then they were not going to have a problem.

Pressing his foot down harder and giving in to the responding roar of power Dean smiled. They were going to be just fine.

THE END


End file.
